


praesidium

by clarkegrff (fayevsessays)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 84,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3739057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayevsessays/pseuds/clarkegrff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>// she has the same dirt caked under her nails and the same blood on her hands. clarke can’t tell the difference anymore.</p><p>[Clarke and Lexa take on the Mountain and the troubles that follow].</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act One

*

 

She has the same dirt caked under her nails and the same blood on her hands. Her feet have walked the same steps and slept under the same starry sky for weeks now. Clarke can’t tell the difference. Where her people end and the Grounders start. The grime all looks the same. Everyone else is quick to remind her that they aren’t.

Never mind that the Ark has killed countless people and the 100 were meant to be another addition to that tally. Never mind that they’ve all done things to survive. Never mind. 

For now the difference between a Grounder and her people when they leave a room comes only with the way Grounder cloaks swish against her ankles as they pass. There’s a lone guard in the corner watching Clarke as Lexa continues to make her plans on the war room board. He’s easy to ignore, his job is not to draw attention to himself. Be the shadow.

Clarke speaks without caring that he can hear her. "What did he mean, under the Commander’s protection?” 

Quint was not subtle in his anger or his accusations. As far as he was allowed to take it anyway. Clarke didn’t have to look down to see the whiteness in his knuckles or the rage in his eyes when they spoke. 

Lexa’s command made him obey but it did not take away his desire to see her head separated from her body, Clarke had no doubt. 

It’s all a reminder of how shaky this alliance is. Clarke watches as Lexa studies their battlefield before answering her question.

Her eyes are the night. And when she closes them Clarke can’t see the stars anymore. “You are here because I am allowing it.”

“Allowing?” Clarke feels the hair on the back of her neck prickle through nervousness. “We formed a truce.”

It’s not yet as thick as the blood on her hands but god, she will stitch them together if it’s the last thing she’s able to do.

“A truce so weak that sharing a drink was able to disturb it.” Lexa’s eyes flash up and it’s strange to be able to see more than just white and darkness. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking that it won’t take time. My people are angry at you and your people.”

“And you.” Clarke chances. “I can’t imagine what the weight of that is- the fear-”

“I fear nothing.” Lexa disturbs her sentence and Clarke can’t reclaim it. “Until our people come together naturally and the truce is more than just a word, I am the only thing keeping my people from killing you all.”

She says it like Clarke should be grateful for this fact. 

(Of course there’s reassurance to it, Lexa has tamed all who cross her path. Her eyes force others to their knees and they obey).

“You took Finn. You made peace with the village.” Clarke bites back the stinging she feels in her throat. “And we are the things holding this truce together.”

Lexa is cold. There’s fire in her eyes but everything else is ice. 

“We will unite our people and free everyone in Mount Weather.” Clarke reassures. “Even if I have to drag everyone through hell to do it.”

Lexa topples the figure on the table that represents herself. “Even if we have to.”

The guard smiles.

*

There’s a giant killer primate outside hunting them down and every second they spend trapped in the metal cage meant for animals, Clarke grows more and more homesick for her cell in the sky.

She realizes how fucked up that is.

If only she hadn’t gone for a fucking walk in the woods.

Lexa is biting hard on her bottom lip so much that there’s a thin line of blood running across it. Clarke understands stubbornness with injuries, they’ve been here long enough, but the roars of the beast are in the distance for now, if Lexa wants to cry-

That thought doesn’t sit right with her. Even though Lexa pleads with her to leave and save herself, the Grounders are not a people Clarke associates with sadness. 

‘I lost someone once.’

Or at least Lexa.

Clarke pulls at the lining inside her coat. It rips off with some tugging. “Here.”

Lexa has her arm pressed to her chest and Clarke has already assessed it visually. Dislocated shoulder; which she can deal with but not without alerting the predator to their location. 

“I can put this in a sling for you until we get back to camp. I can set it for you then.” 

Lexa tenses almost violently when Clarke moves her shoulder. She doesn’t make a sound until the weight of her arm is finally taken out of her hands. The smallest whimper. 

Clarke pretends not to hear her. 

“You should have left me behind.” Lexa says. Fixing her arm has freed her voice. “Now two will die here instead of one.”

Clarke sighs and walks to the opposite wall for something to do. Everything is pressing in on her.“I’m still new to your culture but when someone saves your life my people say thank you.”

“I’m serious, Clarke.” 

Hello Serious, Clarke thinks sarcastically as she pulls on the bars to the cage. Anything to be out from under Lexa’s gaze. 

“To lead well you must make hard choices.”

“Hard choices?” Clarke’s voice lifts at the end. Disbelief at the statement. “You’re telling me that?”

“I’ve seen your strength, it’s true.” Lexa steps forward. “But now you waver. You couldn’t kill Quint, you couldn’t leave me to die.”

Lexa accuses her of weakness as if that’s what she wishes Clarke had done. 

“That was weakness.”

“I thought love was weakness.” She throws back, her voice sounds broken and hollow. 

She turns back to the bars and Lexa straightens her back. “Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke.”

Something pops in the back of her mind and the adrenaline that had been crashing in her system is given a jolt. Clarke returns to face Lexa with shaking hands. “You wanna know why I saved you? Because I need you.”

She allows a second for that admission to sink in.

“God forbid one of your generals becomes Commander.” Clarke says. “You may be heartless, Lexa, but at least you’re smart.”

“Don’t worry.” Lexa smiles, amused by Clarke’s sudden aggravation. “My spirit will choose much more wisely than that.”

Lexa gifts her with the story of her spirit and the tale of the Commander line. Reincarnation. Strength and an unbroken line. 

And then the cage begins to rattle. The beast comes crashing at the gate. 

That burst of adrenaline overtakes her and Lexa. They think side by side and move quickly. They outsmart the beast and find themselves, alive, on the other side. 

Death is not the end. But Clarke doesn’t plan on dying.

“We need to run.” Lexa pants. The fringes of exhaustion skirt around both of them. They need to put as much distance between themselves and the cage as possible, rejoin the camp at first light. 

Clarke swallows. “Lead the way.”

*

“Don’t worry, you’re safe.”

Lexa is surrounded by lush green. The lines of the individual leaves come into focus when Clarke blinks the last of the sleep from her eyes. After her watch she collapsed onto her bed of moss not to be awakened again. She feels guilty and somewhat relieved that she’s still breathing, if she’s being honest. 

She’s sure Lexa appreciates it herself. 

“We still have some time.”

Before sunrise. 

“You should sleep.” 

Clarke’s eyes droop and she’s not sure she’ll remember this. 

“Sleep, Clarke.”

*

Her mother and Kane fuss over her when they return to camp. A search party had been sent out for them but only the mauled body of Quint was recovered and the trail went cold. 

Lexa hides her injury from all but Nyko when they return. She slips inside her tent and no one disturbs her for hours until Clarke is free from all distractions to tend to her like she said that she would. Octavia walks her there but waits outside. (Clarke can see her bouncing on the balls of her feet, wanting to do something, fight someone-).

There’s not much to talk about. Clarke’s face isn’t as bloody and Lexa’s isn’t as pained. Clarke takes as little time as possible, releasing the sling and assessing the dislocated joint. 

This she can do. 

While all her worries are inside the mountain, while her friends could be dying and her people are threatening to start a war (Anya was right) that they have no hope of ending; she can do this.

Lexa’s yelp of pain comes out quietly but she snaps part of an antler that protrudes from her throne. Her breathing doesn’t return to normal until Clarke runs her palm from Lexa’s shoulder to her elbow.

“How does that feel?”

“Painful.” Lexa bites. 

“You should probably try to keep it in the sling for a while.” Clarke says. “Ease it with hot water. No heavy lifting.”

Lexa’s lip twitches. “I make no promises.”

If she didn’t know any better, she’d think Lexa was about to laugh.

It’s been barely a few days since Clarke met the Commander- Lexa was not who she expected. Gustus’ warning that if she looked at ‘her’ wrong had thrown her for a second. She’d imagined a man, tall and angry. A Grounder version of Kane or Jaha. 

Lexa was a storm. Toying with the knife in her hands while testing her with threats. Clarke was accused of killing 300 of her warriors, something she didn’t deny, and she threw the reasoning back in Lexa’s face. That probably curried Lexa’s support in her favor despite Indra’s insistence that they kill her outright. 

Lexa is still a storm. Thundering and striking and brooding. The clouds of her apathy spread far and wide. Those closest to her enjoy the rain. 

They are waiting for the lightning. 

“Then don’t promise.” Clarke checks over her work one last time. “The less you move, the quicker you’ll heal.”

Lexa flexes her fingers in the sling, testing her pain tolerance. When it’s less than she expects, she gives Clarke a nod of appreciation. “I know you must have others to attend to.”

“I doubt that they’re as important.” She tidies away the limited supplies she’d managed to acquire. 

Lexa moves like she’s got something else to add but after a longer pause Clarke realizes that whatever she wanted to say isn’t going to come. For better or worse. “I’ll come and check on you.”

“Nyko would suffice.” Lexa interrupts. “If you’re busy.”

“I’ll let him know.” Clarke tugs the bag over her shoulder. It suddenly feels strange to be parting. The last day and a half has been nothing but the two of them. And if the fiction she’d read on the Ark is anything to go by, outsmarting a giant beast always brings people closer together. “Good night Lexa.”

“Sleep well, Clarke.”

*

Octavia comes to her with a message from Indra a few days after Clarke’s return to camp. They’re moving from Tondc and back to rejoin the rest of the Grounder army and Lexa has offered them protection back to the Ark, for those that are headed that way. Raven mutters something about getting back to work on the radios and the other tasks that Clarke has asked of her. Bellamy has his orders and dark, determined eyes as Lincoln comes calling for him. 

She holds onto him before he leaves. There’s no time to waste on holding back so she whispers that she needs him to come back and finish all of this with her. 

It’s strange to think there was a time when she didn’t look over her shoulder and see him watching her back. She holds Octavia’s hand until the boys are out of sight and it’s time for them to gather themselves.

That’s how she finds herself in Lexa’s tent, surrounded by a number of her closest guards, preparing her things to leave. 

The days have been kinder to their healing injuries but Lexa still presses the jar into Clarke’s hands with her right. 

She holds the paint in her hand looking to each other warrior in the room as they pair off, blackening their eyes and hands. Lexa sits upon a chair and impatience, though mostly hidden, still worms into her tone. “Indra is gone and I have not named another lieutenant.”

“I saved your life so I can put on your eyeliner?” Clarke smiles in the hope of getting one in return. The hours in the cage let her know that it’s not impossible. 

Lexa doesn’t give her the same response and Clarke clears her throat and tries not to notice that Lexa tenses when she kneels in front of her. She smears the mixture of paint and ash on her thumb, rubbing it between her fingers. “Can you-”

Lexa gives her a level stare and closes her eyes. Strangely the moment becomes less of a preparation for facing the cruel world and more of a trust exercise. Clarke doesn’t hesitate in proving that it’s not misplaced. 

She knows the way Lexa wears her war paint enough to know what to do. First she darkens around her eyebrows, around and under her eyes. She feels the flickering of Lexa’s eyelids when she paints over them. 

“I respect you.” Clarke whispers, continuing to draw the faint lines down Lexa’s cheek. “Sometimes I feel like you’ll make me regret it but-” She smiles though Lexa can’t see it. “There are a lot of people in this room that would do anything for you without a word. I’ve seen that in action.”

Lexa terrifies her. That’s reducing the claustrophobic feeling she gets whenever the commander enters a room simplistically. There’s more that she can’t touch on. 

Lexa grips her wrist without looking.

“And your people don’t?” Lexa asks. It’s not something Clarke thinks she can answer. Her people follow because they looked for someone who walked and talked and acted like they knew what to do. Over time, she’s learned how to believe it herself. Trial by fire. But it’s not the same as this. 

Lexa opens her eyes, waiting. 

“I wasn’t chosen.” Clarke keeps eye contact, knowing that looking down would send the wrong message. Now is not the time for miscommunication. “I’m not sure you even realize the effect you have on people- not just your own.”

The echo of Kane’s comment about Lexa being a visionary is not lost in this moment. 

Lexa’s grip on her wrist loosens. “What effect do I have on you, Clarke?”

Clarke can feel the black paint against her thumb when she rubs her fingers over it. Her lips are dry and she shakes a little under Lexa’s stare, not an unusual feeling, but not one she can’t handle. “When I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”

*

Clarke knows from the way Abby refuses a seat that she doesn’t respect Lexa or the hospitality she offers her in the war room. Though she is sitting, Lexa isn’t phased by this insult as she somehow still manages to look down over all of them. 

The war room table is cluttered with maps and objects to represent their respective camps and warriors. Clarke runs her hand over the top of the map where the mountain is. Jasper. Monty. Miller. Everyone she left behind. 

It’s hard to keep her focus when she’s stuck between longing to charge in and hating every suggestion that her mom and Kane come up with. Lexa holds true to her convications. It’s unwavering. 

“You want a safe retreat?” Abby questions. “Then your army will follow this plan of attack and-”

“And allow hundreds of my people to be slaughtered as they retreat with yours?” Indra balks at Abby. She mutters something else in Trigedasleng. “Retreat is not an option. We enter the Mountain. We kill the enemy and we walk out as victors.”

Her mother’s skin glows with cold sweat that the light reveals. They’re all stifling in the bunkered war room. Tensions are rising. “Commander, as Chancellor of the Ark-”

“Clarke.” Lexa interrupts. “What is your proposal?”

Abby is struck speechless at how quickly Lexa brushes her off and clears her throat as if Lexa just didn’t hear her. “-It would be well advised to alert the soldiers that we have.”

Lexa raises a hand, flat palm facing Abby, putting her words to a stop. “I have asked Clarke.”

The attention is back on her and Clarke feels hot in her heavy jacket. She begins to straighten her back to address Lexa with the ideas she has-

“My daughter is not making the decisions here.” Abby argues boldly. Indra and the other Grounders place their hands on their swords. 

“Your daughter is the only one that should be.” Lexa’s tone cuts through everyone. Clarke watches how her mother’s words die on her lips and her strong gaze turns quickly to defeat and then bitterness when she realizes that nothing she says will make a difference to Lexa. 

Now she knows how it feels, Clarke thinks. 

“Clarke, as leader of the Sky people-” Lexa focuses on her again and amongst the sudden hush and tension Clarke realizes something. “What do you advise for our safe retreat?”

Lexa’s mocking her mother. 

“The tunnels.” Clarke glances at her mom’s shaking hands. “We want to try and evacuate as many people as we can. Those that are strong enough to fight should be given the chance to, those that can’t have to go. We can deal with the reapers and make our way back down towards the Ark.”

She doesn’t touch the other part of this. The part where the Grounders will no doubt try and kill as many people within the Mountain as possible. 

“And what happens if that fails?” Abby asks. “There are hundreds of people trapped in there, trying to get them all out while we’re fighting- it’s impossible.”

“I trust that Bellamy will be able to free the Grounders and turn off the acid fog.” Clarke states. “Raven might be able to jam some of their radio signals, like they did to us and we’re looking at the dam-”

Kane speaks up. “We can send soldiers to the other side. See if we can do some damage. Anything that will keep them in the dark for a while.”

“There are less than 400 in the mountain.” Clarke relays. Lexa listens. “Less than a quarter of them are soldiers.”

The rest- the women and the children. 

“The advantage is ours.” Lexa declares. “We will win this battle.”

“That’s if we make it into the mountain. That’s if the rest of these details finally fall into place. If Bellamy and the rest of our kids stay alive for long enough.” Abby exclaims. “Are you still sure?”

Indra makes a noise that sounds like a discontened growl and places a hand on her dagger. Clarke shifts closer to the Grounder’s half of the table, she doesn’t want to be caught in the middle.

“Do not mistake my certainty as arrogance.” Lexa tilts her head back and looks down at all around the table. Her trusted men know best, they lower their gazes and while Clarke doesn’t, she knows the way to respond to Lexa’s show of dominance. 

Her mother doesn’t.

Kane pushes his hands together in a prayer gesture. “I think we’ve said enough for now. We should resume talks in the morning. Abby.” He prompts and with a final, bold glare in Lexa’s direction, and another to Clarke, Abby follows him to the door. 

Kane smiles tightly. “Commander.” He nods. 

Clarke lets out a breath she doesn’t remember taking. Another battle to watch out for. 

*

Clarke wakes up shaking early one morning with the desire to get far away from the claustrophobia of the camp. The sun has only just risen and her mother insists that she take someone with her to the lake. That’s how Clarke ends up knee deep in the water, her clothes soaked through, while Raven tightens something on her brace on a rock several feet away. 

She might care whether Clarke lives or dies but Raven is far from forgetting that Clarke, not Lexa, was the one who slid a knife into Finn’s belly. 

Every time Clarke looks over her shoulder, Raven makes a point to be looking elsewhere. Her brace, the stick she’s sharpening with her knife, the rocks on the bank- Clarke watches the water for any signs of danger but doesn’t venture further out. After all, she’s still not a swimmer. She’s not even much of a paddler. 

(Ever since she jumped off that dam with Anya, the idea of water- or being submerged at least- has sent her running for the shore). 

“As much as the thought of you floating downstream is appealing to me right now,” Raven shouts out, startling her. “-you might want to come in a little.”

Clarke looks at her. 

Raven taps her leg. “Shaky footing. And I’m not swimming out to save you anytime soon.”

“You can head back if you want.”

“And risk the wrath of Abby?” Raven scrapes the knife along the edge of the stick. “You might not be my favorite person in the world. But I still like her.”

Therefore letting her daughter drown probably isn’t high on Raven’s to do list. That’s something. 

Clarke takes the necessary steps back and Raven makes a mocking, yet approving, sound. The water laps around the backs of her calves, soaking through her jeans and socks. She doesn’t know why she needs this. Water isn’t her friend. It’s not even soothing. 

It’s cold and is filled with countless unknown, and possibly dangerous, things.

And for some reason that’s comforting. At least she isn’t feeling numb to everything yet. Which is more than she could say for herself when they finished up the battle plans a few hours ago. 

The tunnels are going to be used to retreat and the Grounders will get their chance for revenge. Slaughter might be a better word for it. 

There isn’t much else to do but bite her tongue as Lexa appeased her generals with this promise. How can she argue against it when the Mountain Men have killed thousands of their people. When they’re threatening to kill her friends? At any cost. She has to bring them back. 

*

The days pass slowly once Clarke reluctantly returns to Camp Jaha. She knows Kane wished for her to stay to meet with the majority of the clan leaders but she couldn’t face her mother’s disappointed face again. Even though Abby returned with her, there’s more than enough as Chancellor to keep her busy and out of Clarke’s way. Her return, she reasoned, was to make sure she was the first to know when it was the time to head to the Mountain. 

She only goes for Bellamy. To wait for his radio transmission, to wait for him to return the faith she has in him. Her faith, the crux of this plan. He needs to follow through. 

She waits. They all do. It’s too long. Clarke can feel her people giving up hope around her. She can feel them pairing themselves off into factions, preparing for the end of the truce. Preparing for the fight for survival. 

But Clarke knows better. They don’t know Bellamy, they don’t know what they’ve all been through. She can see it in her mother’s face when she looks at Clarke. Studying, judging. Like Clarke is a wound she doesn’t quite know how to heal. 

She waits. She stares at her hands and swears she can still see Finn’s blood on them. She scrubs at them as she waits like that’ll change what she’s done. Change the blood on her hands. Not just Finn’s, not the Grounder guard she’d killed, or the 310 she’d ordered burned to death. 

Not even the innocents Finn slaughtered in her name. But the blood of the 48, Clarke scoffs bitterly to herself, if there are even that many left. 

So she waits because she doesn’t have another choice. Just a plan. 

Clarke hears Raven yell for her and she runs to the engineering bay.

It’s Bellamy finally radioing back to the Ark. 

He’s inside. They don’t have much time. The 48 are being harvested. And there’s something else as well.

“A missile.” Clarke chokes out. “Are you sure?”

“Clarke.” Bellamy pants over the radio. “They’re aiming at Tondc.”

Clarke pushes past Raven as soon as they lose their connection with Bellamy. She steps outside the Ark and saddles up the first horse that she can find. Her mother must have seen her storm out because she’s hot on her heels. 

“Clarke!” Abby jogs over to her. The guards stationed outside of the camp tense, fingers still behind the triggers waiting for her mother, no, the Chancellor to give them an order if needed. Abby puts a hand on Clarke’s shoulder and Clarke can’t help but flinch it off of her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Clarke clenches her jaw and mounts the horse without a response. She taps the horse on the side with her heel and starts to move forward slowly. Abby gets in front of her and she forces the horse to a stop. “You need to get out of my way.” Clarke only knows action, she needs to move, needs to get their troops to Mount Weather. Now. 

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.” Abby stands firm. If it was anything other than life or death for her people Clarke would stop to see the stubborn resemblance. But she doesn’t have time for that. Not even if she wanted to. She tries to move again but Abby won’t budge. “If you won’t tell me as my daughter then I order you to tell me as your Chancellor.” 

Fingers move from behind triggers to in front of them. Clarke sees the guards edge their weapons upward at the sign of the Chancellor’s invocation. It’s a simple calculation, her pride for the lives of many. Finally, an easy choice.

“We heard back from Bellamy. I need you to ready your troops, Chancellor. Now. They’re harvesting my friends as we speak. The longer you stop me from riding to Tondc, the less of them come home.” 

The missile can’t pass her lips. The less they know...

There’s no time.

Her words stir the guards. Some of them have family in Mount Weather, children. Their weapons lower but their gazes go straight to her mother. Abby scans her eyes across the guards and back to Clarke. Maybe when she was a child back on the Ark that look would have sent her running to her father for protection from her mother’s ire. But now? She stares back with equal resolve. She doesn’t care if she has to force her mother’s hand. 

This happens now or they might as well not waste their time. 

Abby’s posture straightens to the point where it looks painful and Clarke can’t help but think of Lexa. Her mother looks like she’s trying too hard to project power. The Commander exudes it effortlessly. “Ride ahead, Clarke.” Abby bites out. “I’ll give the order and we’ll follow.” 

It takes every little bit of her mother’s resolve to concede her verbal position and even more to cede her physical one. As soon as her mother is out of the way, Clarke kicks the horse and motions for the gate to be opened. As soon as it opens she pushes the horse’s pace as hard as it can handle. 

If she reaches Tondc by nightfall, it might make a difference. She might be able to warn them.

She can’t wait any longer. 

*

“You’re sure.” Lexa’s words are fast and full of dread. She hasn’t faced anything like this in her time, in her life, but the world is enough evidence of what these weapons can wield. 

“I’m sure.” Clarke bites out her words, matching Lexa’s speed. She’s thinking, always thinking, trying to figure out something they can possibly do. Because the alternatives--

\--the alternatives aren’t acceptable.

“How long do we have?” Lexa’s still pacing around the tent. Her movements take on an almost manic tone, a direct contrast from the calm and collected aura she normally proejcts. “We have to leave.”

“No.” Clarke stops her before she can go any further down that path. They’ve already lost too much. She can’t imagine sending anyone else to their death. 

Lexa stands tall. “To win the war sometimes you must concede the battle, Clarke.”

“No.” Clarke says even more forcefully this time. She encroaches into Lexa’s space and admires the way Lexa stands firm. “There has to be a better way. There has to.” She says the last part mostly to herself but Lexa gives her a curious look anyway. 

“What do you suggest? We can’t have much time.” Lexa presses. 

Clarke doesn’t have an immediate answer for that. She’d been rolling around ideas in her head as she raced to the camp but nothing seemed to fit. She tries to think of everything she saw when she was held inside of Mount Weather. Their procedures, systems, defenses. 

“Wait.” Clarke stops and thinks the plan through a bit further. “Something has to sight the missile. They’ve got to aim somehow.” 

Silence falls between the two of them as Clarke tries to carry her thought through to an actual plan. Lexa leans forward against the situation board as if imploring Clarke to think faster. 

Suddenly she remembers the last thing she saw before she was taken prisoner by the Mountain Men. She remembers the man whose air she’d let out, her messenger that caused this whole retaliation. Men in suits with weapons patrolling the woods. 

“They have to leave the mountain.” Clarke perks up. “Lexa, they have to leave the mountain. That’s it.”

Lexa looks annoyed at best by her repetition. “So you’ve said.” 

“We have to sweep the perimeter. Now. That’s the key.” Lexa looks interested in at least hearing out the rest of the plan before defaulting back to her own. “There’s someone on the perimeter helping them aim the missile. If we can throw off the aim, the missile doesn’t hit, and it doesn’t expose Bellamy or kill everyone in this village.” 

“Clarke--” Lexa hedges. 

“It’s the best way.” Clarke cuts her off. She’s not willing to sacrifice hundreds of lives in her name. Not when she knows that many more people will die once they march on Mount Weather. She can’t concede the avoidable deaths as well. “You can flee or we can save Tondc. It’s your choice.” 

Clarke refuses to avert her eyes and Lexa refuses to stand down. It’s a battle of wills that nobody in the village has time for. Every second they waste is another moment closer to a potential tragedy. 

Finally Lexa breaks eye contact to grab a dagger from off of her table. “We’ll do it your way. But--”

“I know.” Clarke doesn’t need to hear it. She’s aware of the consequences by now. 

They decide to split up, they’ll cover more of the perimeter that way. Lexa leaves her with a grim nod and they go their separate ways. 

Clarke searches frantically. There wasn’t any time to waste before and there’s even less now. She can’t tell how much time has passed but she feels like she’s searched everywhere and a sinking feeling starts to settle in her chest. 

She’s done it. She’s doomed everyone in Tondc and all because she couldn’t handle anymore death on her hands. 

Because she’s weak. 

Clarke stops. She closes her eyes and tries to calm down. 

And that’s when she hears it. A single rustle, a crack of a branch on the ground. She whips her head to the left and draws her gun. 

She sees him. Just the bare glimpse of a hat over his carefully hidden nest. He’s not wearing a suit. 

The treatments work. A bitter thought has her wondering which one of her friends is dying so he can help murder an entire village. 

Clarke keeps her gun held steady in her left hand and walks quietly around to flank the soldier. She remembers Anya mocking her for stomping through the woods. Wouldn’t she be so proud if she could see her now. 

More blood on her hands. Clarke swallows hard and the anger grows deep in her chest. She moves her finger in front of the trigger. He doesn’t hear her coming and before long she’s right behind him. 

She cocks the gun. “Don’t. Move.”

The chatter continues in his earpiece and she can hear faint remnants of it. Enough to make out key words. Coordinates. They need them. 

Clarke can help with that. She’s clenching her teeth so hard it feels like her jaw is sore. She sees the apparatus in his hand and figures that’s what they’re going off of. She can hear the guard gulp as they wait for his response and she presses the gun harder into the back of his head. “You’re going to miss.” She says pointedly. His target is still aimed at Tondc but slowly it starts to move higher and higher away from where it would cause major casualties. 

The chatter starts up on the radio again. Confirm. She hears the word and knows this is the moment. “Answer them.”

If they notice the shake in his voice they must not comment on it. And as soon as Clarke hears him confirm the coordinates for the last time she pistol whips him in the back of the head. 

Someone has to let Mount Weather know why their attack wasn’t successful. 

It doesn’t take long before she hears a sound above her so loud she can barely contain the urge to plug her ears. She closes her eyes instead. 

She opens them when she hears the missile pass all the way over her head. Clarke looks over at Tondc. It’s still there, they did it. 

Except her victory is short lived when she realizes exactly where she’s made him aim. Lexa had been searching-

“Shit.” Clarke trips over the root of the tree. 

The whistling of the missile fills the air and Clarke loses her breath. 

She runs. 

Branches whip against her face leaving stinging scratches and she’s sure every single person in camp, if not for the impending sound in the air, would hear her coming. 

Clarke stumbles to the camp border, just setting foot on the soft mud when the whistling stops. 

She sees Lexa across the way. One step. One breath. 

And then there’s high pitch whistling in her ears and then nothing. 

The impact rattles through her as if they’re caught in the middle of the heat and fire. Distant explosions light the sky like fireworks hiding the stars. Clarke is on her back, choking on dust and trying to fight the sudden pain in her head as everything comes over her in waves. 

It lasts for seconds but Clarke feels trapped for hours. Her arms won’t stop shaking when she pushes herself up. Her eyes won’t focus anywhere but the spot she last saw Lexa stand in. 

Octavia is screaming. 

People are running. 

There’s fire- there’s fire. Did she do it? Did she actually help? Or was it all another trick? Her throat tightens, making it hard to breathe in anything but short, panicked gasps. Her throbbing head fights her need to stand. Her fingers are caked with the mud on the ground. Every movement rushes through her awkwardly. 

Her steps are heavy but she makes her way towards the oncoming crowds of Grounders and warriors alike. 

Octavia’s mouth is moving but there’s nothing to be heard. Or maybe that’s just her. Words don’t find their home and Octavia can only look at her with a helpless expression. Her lips form her name. That much Clarke can see. 

She registers being wrapped in strong arms before everything goes black. 

 

*

Clarke has been standing over the table, trying to quell her shaking legs, since returning to the tent. There’s controlled chaos outside now. People still trying to gather themselves after the near miss of the Mountain Men’s weapon. Herding people towards the healers. Clearing what can be cleared and avoiding what can’t. The guard would be long gone now with a warning and Clarke knows that if not for her, things could have been worse. 

But thirteen people still died. 

Thirteen more to rest on her heavy shoulders. 

“Clarke.”

Their shoulders. 

“You need to rest. There is nothing left to be decided.” The battle plans are laid out and are of a better mind than hers right now.

Lexa grows less and less tolerant of her presence in the tent the longer Clarke continues to walk around, pulling at maps and plans. “What if we’ve missed something- the doors...”

“Will be opened either way.” Lexa resigns herself to not being allowed to rest in peace. She’d retired once Clarke returned to their tent after being checked over by Nyko. Other than a faint, yet temporary (she’s been reassured) deafness in her ear, Clarke is fine. Fit and ready. Just unable to sleep. 

Now though, Lexa sits up from her bed and sighs. Clarke can feel her eyes on the back of her neck. A feeling that, just a few short days ago, would have caused her more worry than ease. 

“Put the maps down.” Lexa isn’t giving her an order but she sounds like she is. “They will still be there in the morning if you wish, but you will be in no state to go through with anything if you do not rest.”

Commander’s orders. Clarke bites on her lip, stressed and tired. 

“Come to bed Clarke.”

“What?” Her ear is still full of the sounds of explosions. 

Lexa looks concerned. “Retire to bed.” She repeats. “If you won’t sleep at least rest your body.”

“And my mind?”

Lexa takes the map from Clarke’s hand gently. “Will take longer to quiet if you don’t work with it.”

The candles on the table flicker as a breeze finds its way through the tent. Clarke shivers and Lexa looks towards her once warm bed. 

“The idea of battle troubles you.” Lexa states. “The first is always the hardest. You are doing what I did when I first became Commander.”

“I can’t think of anything past this.” Clarke whispers. “Does that happen for every battle too? That you’re so wrapped up in the what ifs and maybes that you can’t even imagine what it’ll be like afterwards.”

“The dust will settle. We will live and they will die.” Lexa says curtly. “To think of anything else, would be disruptive.”

Clarke wants to think of anything else. She wants to know that she’ll be there to see the sun rise again. Something she’s not gotten used to. She still wants to feel the rain on her face and wind whipping against her cheek. As much as the idea of winter scares her, the unpreparedness of it all, she wants to know what the changing seasons will bring and how they will survive it. 

Clarke wants time. She wants a tomorrow that doesn’t taste like ash and death. 

“I don’t want everything to catch up with me.” 

There has to be retribution. Blood must have blood down here. She can wash it off but underneath her red raw skin she knows that there are traces of Finn and all the others that have died for her, because of her, and she can’t ever get rid of that. 

Everything ticks down in the end. 

“There’s got to be something right?” Clarke looks at Lexa, hoping. “Something waiting out there. In the mountain or not that’s going to put an end to me.”

“Death waits for us all.” Lexa says, her voice dips low. “And from the endless darkness we are reborn.”

Clarke remembers reading something in a book once. ‘I am become death.’ 

She says it with such blind certainty that Clarke feels jealous. That Lexa knows without a doubt that her life, her bloodline, will continue and the world will embrace her new life. 

“I don’t understand reincarnation.” Clarke offers honestly. 

“And your understanding is needed to believe?” Lexa asks. “What is there to deny that you haven’t lived a thousand lives? That you falling out of the sky wasn’t a discovery but a homecoming.”

“I can’t say much for the welcoming party.” Clarke scoffs. 

Lexa bristles and Clarke ducks her head, sighing. “I want to sleep. Wake up when this is all over and I don’t have to think about everything I regret.”

The list is long and read out in a voice that is unmistakably Finn’s. Charlotte’s. Wells’. Her father’s.

“Regret only what you have the means to change.” Lexa offers. “Embrace everything else for what it is.”

“Does that work for you?” Clarke turns it back at Lexa. 

Lexa’s jaw tightens and the sleep that was in her eyes has vanished. Clarke has awakened her. “What’s done cannot be undone. No matter what we wish.”

Clarke can feel the name on her tongue. Costia.

Lexa hides it well. “You should sleep Clarke.”

Clarke holds herself against the table as Lexa recovers the short distance from Clarke’s side to her bed. The hanging material covers her from view but Clarke looks at her back anyway as Lexa takes off the lone piece of armor she hadn’t removed already. 

“I don’t want to die.” Clarke admits. “I don’t want all of this to end.”

It’s stupid to say something selfish like this. If she dies, the earth will keep spinning. Her people will go on. Lexa will still command. Her mother will still heal. A new leader will replace her. 

But she has to have this selfishness. It keeps her standing. It keeps her thinking and planning and holding onto this madly spinning world. She’s only just got here. 

Lexa holds open the drapes and looks at her. “You won’t die.” 

Lexa promises a life ahead of her. Sunrise and sunset. Rain and storms. The first sight of snow. The new cold and the blistering summer. 

Clarke leaves the maps and plans. She steps into the den where Lexa is going to rest and joins her. Not wanting to feel so alone anymore. She’s not looking for anything, not even comfort, just someone to be watching her back. Someone to ward away the nightmares and still be there in the morning. 

Clarke sits on the edge of the bed while Lexa lies back. If she squints she can make out the stars above her through the material. 

“I need your spirit to stay where it is.” Lexa’s words float from behind her. She doesn’t need to turn to know that Lexa has her arms crossed, protecting her chest. 

Clarke smiles at the sound of that. 

“God forbid one of your generals becomes commander...”

“Mockery isn’t-” Clarke switches on her best imitation. 

“Sleep, Clarke.” Tiredness consumes her. A silent lullaby and Lexa’s breathing. “Sleep.”

*

Twenty seven Ark soldiers and eleven hundred Grounders make up the troops that will march to Mount Weather. 

Clarke is mentally adding Octavia and Raven though the former will be fighting with her mentor and the latter will be directing their movements through radios back at Camp Jaha. They’re waiting for Bellamy to give the signal now. And once Raven releases the flare, they’ll be leaving. 

She’s in the middle of distributing packs to those making the journey and joining the fight when she’s distracted. Even in the night she can see the disturbed look settling on Octavia’s face over the campfire. 

Clarke abandons her task and makes her way over. Having distractions the night before they’re off to battle is not the best. Not for either of them.

“Hey.” Clarke says. She lowers herself onto the log on the other side of the fire. “How’re you doing?”

Octavia looks up at her and then quickly down. Like the gaze burns her. Clarke swallows the sudden anxiety in her throat and quashes it back into her stomach. 

“I’ve been going over and over it in my head just trying to figure out how-” Octavia won’t look at her over the fire. Her voice is gravel and full of rocks. “-you’re still alive.”

There’s no relief in that statement. The flames spit between them.

Clarke shakes her head. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you in Tondc before the missile. I know you, Clarke. Something was wrong.”

They’ve been together for such a short time but now, with Octavia in the deepest part of her Grounder training and with her eyes are dark as the rest, Clarke realizes that there’s no way she can lie. 

“And then you and Lexa just disappear into the woods right before?” 

Now Clarke is the one who can’t look at her. 

“Tell me you didn’t know it was coming.”

But she tries. “Octavia.”

Octavia’s expression twists. Hope to hate. “You would have let us all die. You were going to let me die.”

“I did it to save Bellamy.” The missile missed. The casualties were minimal. The damage was limited. But in Octavia’s eyes she sees what could have been. Flashes of Kane trapped under the collapsed bunker. Her mom crushed. Octavia over Indra’s broken body. “So that we could win this war, don’t you see that?”

“If we’d evacuated Tondc, then Mount Weather would have known someone tipped us off. They would have found your brother.” She appeals to Octavia. 

“No. Bellamy would have never told you to do that.” She’s so sure it hurts. “He would have found another way.”

Clarke steels herself. What could have happened might as well have. She’s taking full blame for it. Regardless of the outcome. “I couldn’t take that risk.” 

“Right. Because you’re in charge now and you decide who’s disposable.” Octavia’s face scrunches up in disgust. “You’d have fit right in on the council.”

Octavia tries to get away from her but Clarke catches up. 

“You can’t tell anyone.” Clarke murmurs. 

“Because the alliance would break.” Octavia can hear the footsteps behind her. “I’m not an idiot Clarke.”

She’s exactly like her brother. Octavia pushes by her again and Clarke can only watch her back as she stomps away, past Lexa with only the most gruff of acknowledgements. She spots the look in Lexa’s eyes and her heart jumps into her throat. Clarke is well versed. 

“She won’t say anything.” Clarke promises even as Lexa watches Octavia go where’s she’s been posted.

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“You worry about your people.” Clarke tells her. “I’ll worry about mine.”

Lexa’s eyes are dark once more. Clarke retreats to their tent but not for long. It’s the worry that puts a gun in her hand and sends her stalking her target in the woods. 

*

“Don’t. Move.”

*

The gun is heavy in her left hand and she’s winded from how angry she is and having to push the Grounder guard into Lexa’s tent. She doesn’t get a view of her until she’s kicked the back of the man’s leg and forced him to his knees. 

Lexa has ash all over her hands, applying it to her eyes in the usual pattern. Clarke has interrupted her. “You sent him to kill Octavia?” She’s out of breath. “I told you she’s not a problem!”

In a second all the good will that was building between them is dented.

Lexa looks at her with a mild shock. Her entrance is abrupt. “Leave us.” Lexa gives the man no room to argue but when he stands Clarke shoves the gun against his chest.

“No, I’m not letting him out of my sight.”

The threat has Lexa standing. “Stand down for now and wait for my command.”

He obeys and shoves past her. Clarke’s rage bubbles to the surface and she grips her gun. “What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t just kill everyone you don’t trust.”

Infuriatingly Lexa moves around the room, gathering pieces of armor and weapons, while Clarke tries to talk to her. Still, she stops for a second to tell her with certainty; “Yes I can.”

She moves to her sleeping area and Clarke follows. “Well I won’t let you.”

“It’s a decision that needed to be made. Nothing has changed.” Lexa sounds bored at this conversation. 

Clarke grits her teeth. “You’re wrong. I’ve changed. We saved Tondc, Lexa. I can’t do this anymore.”

Clarke turns and walks away. Skimming her hand over the situation table. With every step she makes a jingle as the extra pieces of armor she wears make themselves known. She touches the piece on her shoulder trying to draw strength. 

“Octavia is a threat.” Lexa makes the same sounds as she approaches her. “If you weren’t so close to her you’d see that.”

Clarke bristles. “It’s because I’m close to her that I know she’s loyal.” She stresses. Lexa is in front of her now and Clarke doesn’t know when she’ll have her full attention again. “Her brother is more important to her than anyone. She would never endanger his life.”

Lexa’s clenches her jaw. “And you’re willing to risk everything on that? On your feelings?”

“Yes.” Her voice gets suddenly deeper with emotion. And it takes her where she needs to go. “You say having feelings makes me weak. But you’re weak for hiding from them.” She accuses. 

The first step forward. 

“I might be a hypocrite Lexa, but you’re a liar.” 

Liar.

Lexa’s chin jerks up defensively like she’s ready to strike. But Clarke is ready.

“You felt something for Gustus. You’re still haunted by Costia. You want everyone to think you’re above it all.” Clarke takes another step forward and Lexa is backed against the table. Her hand tries to steady herself as Clarke advances. Reducing the space. Giving her nowhere to run. “But I see right through you.”

For a second Lexa wavers and then it’s gone. 

“Get. Out.” Lexa snarls. 

Clarke feels slightly sick with nerves as she stands in front of Lexa. “The missile may have missed the village but people still died. I know you felt for them. But you were willing to let them all burn.”

Not entirely trapped by Clarke’s hips and her gaze, Lexa blinks and then something changes. 

“Not everyone.” Lexa talks like there’s a sudden lump in her throat. And Clarke understands a second before Lexa says it. “Not you.”

That has her taking the smallest step back. As if doing so will let her see Lexa better. The barest emotion passing the Commander’s face has her overwhelmed. Clarke can’t see enough of this. She steps forward with renewed fervor. 

“Well if you care about me then trust me.” Please. “Octavia’s not a threat.”

The longest silence follows. “I can’t do that.”

The same old story. 

“I can’t sacrifice my people anymore.” Clarke stands firm. “If you do anything to hurt Octavia. I’ll tell everyone we knew about the missile.”

Clarke storms out of their tent with numb legs. Her body is rattled by more than just a threat. She looks back at the opening, not wanting to know what she’s just left behind in there. 

If this were another time. If this was anything else. Lexa gave something away, fleeting and bravely and all Clarke can think is that time isn’t on their side for this. Drums are pounding constantly. They’re on the edge of safety. There’s an army over the hill that cries out for blood. 

Not everyone. Not her. 

Clarke walks on. It’s all she can do now.

*

Lexa stands by her bed, the majority of her armor is laid out on it and she’s taking stock- making repairs that have been instigated by Ark technology.

Trusting. Sharing.

Clarke walks to her side, leaving some distance. “You sent for me.” She speaks calmly, recovered from her outburst earlier and the change of tone feels better. 

“Yes.” Lexa stops adjusting the straps on her wrist guards. “Octavia has nothing to fear from me.”

Lexa keeps her gaze on her until she has to find harder things to admit. “I do trust you, Clarke.” After that she won’t look at her. 

Clarke moves along. She touches the situation table again. “I know how hard that is for you.” Her voice conveys sincerity and quiet. Willing Lexa to look at her once more. 

It works and they share a moment, just looking at each other, before Lexa gathers herself. “You think our ways are harsh. But it’s how we survive.”

Everything is close to breaking in her voice. There’s no denying that Clarke has pushed the boundaries of their standing relationship to the edge. If she was anyone else, Clarke doesn’t have doubt that Lexa would have killed her. 

But she cares about her. She cares. 

Clarke can’t waste any fight here. Her exhaustion is creeping at the edge of her mind and it’s all she can do to step forward and plead for them to leave the battle for the hours to come. All she can offer now is hope and pray that Lexa will side with her. See her point of view. 

“Maybe life should be about more than just surviving.” She looks down. “Don’t we deserve better than that?”

They’re leaving soon. Most of the Grounders have their weapons sharp and ready at their hips, Lexa is no exception, but Clarke finds that there’s time in all of this madness for things to surprise her. The first being that Lexa smiles for a second. It seems accidental because it disappears as quickly as it comes, Lexa’s eyes flicker to her chin and then up again. 

“Maybe you’re right.”

With one hand on the hilt of her sword, the other finds a home on Clarke’s shoulder. She’s just recovering from the shiver she gets when Lexa’s fingertips touch the spot under her ear when she feels the draw. 

Like with everything Lexa expects from her, she relies on instinct. When you’re about to be kissed, Clarke knows to meet her halfway.

It’s light and hopeful and everything that she’s heard Lexa warn her against. But then it’s dark, consuming, and neither of them want to stop this. 

It makes her whimper when it ends and Lexa’s fingers linger, curling in the strands of her hair as the noise turns Clarke’s ears red. 

There’s so much to say and no time to say it in. Clarke’s mind ripples with ‘I’m sorry, I’m not ready’ and ‘not yet’ but then Lexa grips her shoulder and all Clarke can think of now is that it felt like goodbye. 

She purses her lips together and tries not to let her voice shake. “May we meet again.”

Lexa opens her mouth but it’s not her words that come out. 

“HEDA!”

They turn away and there’s the rumbling of hurried steps outside. “Heda! Heda! The signal!”

They flee from the tent quickly and into the light of the day. Against the clouds and the deceiving blue sky Clarke sees the purple flare. The sign. 

Clarke lets out a collapsed gasp. “Raven.”

“Bellamy did it. The acid fog-”

Lexa is staring up as well. “You were right to have faith in him.” For a brief second she catches her eyes and they’re back inside. But then Lexa hardens the way she always does. “Now we fight.” 

She orders the sound of the horns. 

The noise erupts in the air. Over the hill, Clarke comes to view the army. Their army. As they return the signal in a glorious war cry. 

“Gon war!” Lexa screams out. 

War paint. Weapons in the air. The sounds of a hundred drums beating in time. Clarke’s blood pounds. 

Into the woods they march. 

*

With the acid fog down, the Grounder army, Ark soldiers, and leaders make quick work of the ground. Clarke remembers the speed in which the Grounders surrounded the drop ship all those weeks ago. When there were more of their numbers and when Anya was more than just a distant memory. 

The land is greener, protected from the stomping feet of invaders, until now. Some of Lexa’s men take great pleasure in kicking at the ground, dragging heavy weapons through flowers, defiling whatever they can come across.

Clarke marches with Lexa, Indra, and Octavia. Kane and her mother are somewhere to the rear of the army, while the Ark guards are behind the initial grounder offense. 

Octavia hasn’t looked at her past the brief few words Clarke managed to impose on her. She wanted Octavia to head back and come in later, she wanted to protect her and give her the best chance-

Naturally she knew the minute Indra sent her further forward that her reassignment was going to be ignored completely. 

They’re at the entry to the mountain before Clarke has time to appreciate or fear the moment. Her boots are muddy and her heart is pounding. She moves into position.

Grounders rush forward with rope and wire and hooks that pry at the main door to Mount Weather. They have several advantages. 

The first being their sheer numbers. There’s no doubting that the second they advance they will overwhelm those inside wanting to fight. The second being that many of those inside still won’t have been cured with treatment, meaning that once the radiation from outside starts to filter into the Mountain, many of their enemies will be taken care of for them. 

(Clarke knows that this will also include those people who aren’t soldiers, who aren’t actively fighting them- but she tries not to linger on that. The greater good is worth the small price of part of her soul). 

The third then comes from their alliance and the sleeping army Bellamy is no doubt freeing inside. They have the Mountain Men flanked on both sides. 

Clarke clutches her handgun, adjusting her grip as the Grounders begin to pull on the door. 

Grounders rush forward with huge metal sheets. Steel shields. Ryder places himself in front of Clarke and she does him a favor and kneels behind it. She’s near the front, she’s going to be in the thick of it, but she’s not letting any of Cage’s men get an easy shot at taking her out. 

Lexa is doing the same with a warrior Clarke recognizes as the archer she’d sent to kill Octavia. The sight of him makes her seek out her friend, further behind the first wall of shields, sword in her arm and Indra by her side, even though she knows Lexa’s word to be true. 

The only threat to them now lies behind the walls of Mount Weather. 

*

It’s exactly like Lexa said, the doors fall, the rumbling roar to advance cries out, and then everything falls into place. 

Bullets rain in on them. 

Clarke has just gotten a glimpse of the open door and their entry when Cage’s men present themselves. Guns fire and Grounders duck behind their shields. Despite their quick reaction Clarke hears pained screams as bullets hit their targets. 

Clarke looks back. “Guns!” She yells and several of Kane’s soldiers rush forward, Grounders with large shields protecting them from sight as they run to the front. 

Archers scale nearby trees and fire off arrows. 

The first man falls when an arrow pierces through his neck. Several of the Mount Weather soldiers take a safety step back, they show weakness, and then the offense changes using that momentum. 

Guards fall at a faster rate than they can replenish and the first charge is made towards the door. Bullets catch a few but then there’s a glorious moment when the first Ark soldier manages to pass through the threshold to the Mountain. And then the masses follow. 

Clarke charges in with Lincoln, following the lines of Grounders making their way inside. Each clamouring for a kill. Each wanting to avenge the blood of their brothers and sisters. 

Ahead, Lexa takes a small troop of Grounders towards the stairs. Clarke heads behind her, knowing that to reach the dorms where her friends are, she has to go up. 

They run into trouble fast. Cage’s men have been sent to the front to replace those that could not hold them off. Grounders at the front hold their shields until there’s no space left for the Mountain Men to shoot. And then the real bloodshed starts. 

If Clarke was terrified of her before, with only glimpses of her skill and strength, with only the faintest fear over what she didn’t know about the Commander- what she sees now chills her bones. 

The precision Lexa possesses with every movement and every strike plays out in a horrifying ballet. Anya’s teachings honed into one chosen being. Lexa reaches the first of Cage’s guards and with no regard for him stumbling to fire his gun, Lexa knocks her foot into his thigh, bringing him to his knees as Lexa brings her sword to his neck. 

His body is tossed aside and the Ark soldiers with their guns advance to help clear the way. 

“Frag emo hogeda op!” Lexa growls. “Flosh maunon klin.” 

The Grounders storm the Mountain. Their plan is to rush and conquer. Take all of the levels and defeat the enemy. Eliminate the threat. Clarke’s mission differs. She’s going after her friends. 

“What did she say?” Clarke can make out some words now, Octavia has helped with that, but Lexa speaks too fast.

Lincoln stands with her. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

Lexa strides into battle, not looking over her shoulder, with Clarke wishing she would. She hopes that she’s right. That this plan will work and that everything will come out in their favor. 

“Come on,” Lincoln urges. 

She leaves the army with one last look and runs with Lincoln. They have to make it. 

*

They get stuck on the second level in a fight. Guards are rushing around them, distracted by other Grounders, and recognizing her as enemy number one. Many, Clarke can see, are without suits, cured with the treatment, while others show signs of the radiation damaging their bodies. They don’t have much time to defend the Mountain. 

Their first contact is quick and she reacts. 

(She jumps. The rush of water is always cold). 

She fires a shot off and it’s familiar to see Lincoln’s impressed face in return. Only this time she’s not shooting through him. 

Within seconds it’s a returned gesture as he pulls her out of the way of a bullet to her shoulder. The guard misfires and Lincoln is on him before he can recover. 

In return Lincoln jabs his sword high. It looks to have missed until the soldier grasps for his neck to stem the sudden spurt of blood that gushes out. Clarke’s hand doesn’t tremble, there’s time for that when they’ve won, but she feels new sickness in the face of the gruesome death that she hasn’t felt since arriving on Earth.

Lincoln faces her again. Clarke’s radio crackles to life with the sound of Raven’s directions. “Grounders have taken the sub and first levels. Octavia is on four. They’ve found Cage Wallace.”

Clarke looks up. The floor is covered in bloody footprints and the disgraced dead. They’re quite a pair. “We need to get to Octavia.”

“There are no locked doors anymore.” Lincoln says. “We can take the stairs up.”

Clarke grabs a key card off the man she shot. “Just in case.” She reasons before they’re running back down the hallway. “Raven, we’ve secured the second level. Grounders coming up should check if anyone is hiding there.”

“Yes, yes.” Raven replies. “Ark soldiers to command post-”

Clarke rushes around the corner with her gun raised. It’s a miracle she doesn’t fire when presented with the uniform in front of her. 

The worse for wear Grounders that stand in front of Bellamy save his life.

“Clarke.” He says her name like he’d given up on the thought of it. 

“Bellamy.” Clarke feels a rush of relief flood through her and she wants to touch him. Reach out and make sure she’s not imagining this. 

The distant shout of gunfire deters her. Bellamy’s face hardens. “Level three is full of Mountain Men. We tried to make contact with someone, anyone but without weapons-”

Clarke calms him. “We have the first two floors. Grounders are coming up. Octavia is on the fourth.”

“By herself?” He’s as quick to jump to her words as ever. 

Lincoln shakes his head. “With Indra. With the Commander.”

Bellamy quietens at that. “I need to arm them.”

Lincoln nods behind him. “Head down, take this-” He passes off a knife from his belt. Before Bellamy can take it, the woman standing behind him takes it.

Clarke feels like she’s missed something when Bellamy surrenders his fight for it. “She can get us through quicker.” He looks back at Clarke. “Can you tell them we’re coming? Last thing we need is to face friendly fire.”

“Have you got your radio?” 

Bellamy hands it over and Clarke twists the dials like Raven had shown her. In seconds it’s singing the same tune as her own. “Raven is at the Ark. Tell her whatever you can, then tell them you’re going down. We have radios with all parties.”

Bellamy nods and the Grounders start to make their way opposite to them. Just as Bellamy is about to pass, Clarke holds onto the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Being glad to see he’s still alive relieves guilt. 

He smiles like he hasn’t got a care in the world. “It’s nice to see you too, princess.”

She lets the nickname slide as he runs off. Once he’s out of sight, Clarke focuses again. “We need to get to Octavia.”

“Stay close to me.”

They dispatch three more Mountain Men on their way to the fourth floor. The stairs give them a way to escape the chaos on level three but their presence doesn’t go unnoticed. As they’re preparing to take on more soldiers the first sounds of Grounders breaking through come echoing down the hall. 

Clarke watches the blood drain from a man’s face, from the sound, and from the shot that she’s fired into his thigh. Her elbow collides with the side of his face and he’s knocked unconscious, bleeding out, and unlikely to ever wake up. Their back up arrives, relieving them with spears and knives and guns. Lincoln pushes them onward and upward. 

The sounds of fighting are loud on the other side of the door to the fourth floor. Lincoln keeps her behind him, protecting her as he pulls it open with force. He’s not even a step out before he spots their people in the middle of a battle of their own.

Octavia is ruthless. Her sword doesn’t have the raw strength to follow it yet. Indra will build her stronger and harder but she screams in the face of Cage’s most skilled men and she hacks. 

Her fist jabs out, catching the nearest person in the throat and Octavia pushes her sword down, the tip entering at his collarbone and pushing out under his shoulder. 

Where Octavia is the student, Indra is the master. Clarke knows that she’s been shot at, there are no doubt many bullets that have taken home in her but nothing seems to slow her down. Her spear is fast and deadly. Her knife takes out a guard’s eye and while he screams she moves on, strangling another guard coming towards her. 

Octavia takes another, blade pushing up through a man’s stomach to his rib cage. Every move she makes is purposeful. Octavia knows that if she hesitates, if she misses, then she’ll be the one dying on the floor. 

Lincoln grabs her shoulder as she almost rushes into battle. One of the guards sees her and despite losing his gun, despite being within range of Octavia, Indra, and Lincoln, makes a rush for Clarke. 

She has her gun raised, her finger on the trigger and the shot whips past his ear catching it uselessly. He doesn’t slow and Clarke doesn’t fire again. 

Mostly because that would mean shooting Lexa who appears out of nowhere. The butt of her knife drives into his nose, the crack is loud and he swings his fists at her in pain. Lexa responds, her hands come up to his face and there’s nothing he can do but scream when she presses her thumbs into his eyes. 

Lincoln moves past her, spear launched at the soldier aiming at them, pinning his arm to the wall. 

The man’s screams go on as Lexa digs harder. 

Octavia slices the fingers from a soldier’s hand. 

Indra finds her knife once more and pushes the blade through another soldier’s neck. 

Clarke steps out, her gun raised at the lone soldier backing away towards the only unopened door in the corridor. He sees her and aims. 

She doesn’t hesitate. 

The round goes off, her arm jerks back from the kick and she ends another life. Above the eye, his body crumbles to the ground and chaos becomes victory for the party still standing. 

The screaming stops and Clarke turns just in time to see Lexa release her victim. Her hands, like the rest of her face, are red. Clarke swallows (bile, nerves, adrenaline) at the sight of Lexa in her element. Her chest is heaving and Lexa’s eyes are wild.

The soldier on the floor has bloody holes where Lexa’s thumbs had dug and tore and blinded. She ends his misery quickly, stabbing him in the heart.

Octavia pants and pulls the radio from her jacket. “Command to Octavia. Fourth floor is ours.” 

Raven buzzes back into their lives. “Mount Weather has pushed most of the remaining power into the President’s room on the fourth floor. O, you’re gonna have to blow out the door.”

Octavia’s lip is bleeding from a deep cut running down her chin. It drips onto the floor when she ducks her head to pull out the grenade from her bag. “Got it.”

Lexa rubs her hands together, wiping the blood from her palms as much as she can. “He will not be defenseless.”

“Heda, let me.” Indra asks. “We will take out the door and restrain him.”

Lexa stares straight ahead at the door that hides Cage. “The kill is mine.” 

Clarke steps to her side. “We can’t afford to waste the grenade. If he’s in there, he won’t be alone. They’ll have weapons.”

Lincoln looks ahead. Octavia rolls the grenade in her hand. “Break the wiring. Open the door.”

“Then throw the grenade.” Clarke carries on. 

Lexa tightens a strap on her shoulder, checking herself before they proceed. “Keep to the walls.”

Octavia surges ahead towards the panel on the side. It pulls away effortlessly, or at least with whatever is channeling Octavia’s strength. Beneath it, the wires are still attached to the panel and lights flicker back and forth to show it’s still working.

It’s not rocket science but it’s not something that they can get Raven to switch off.

“If I knew which wire to pull-” Octavia touches the circuits. 

“Wait,” Clarke feels in her pocket and with bright eyes she pulls out the key card she’d stolen from the dead. 

“It can’t be that simple.” Octavia says.

Clarke grits her teeth. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Lincoln holds the grenade. On either side of the door they wait. Lexa and Indra stand as the others crouch. Clarke reaches up with the card and prays. 

A swoosh of air is accompanied by a cloud of bullets fired uselessly down the hall. 

Indra shouts and Lincoln pulls the pin out of the grenade, throwing it blindly into the room. The explosion propels dust into the hall and triggers a chain of smaller explosions from the electrical equipment in there. 

Clarke is shielded by Octavia as the first men stumble to safety and out of the room. The first suffers a swift strike to his ankles, cutting deeply into his achilles and sending him crashing to the floor. Clarke takes the second who wises up to where they are by shooting him in the chest. The vest doesn’t protect him and Lexa follows up the job with her knife. 

Soldiers keep coming at them and their small group dispatches them in a series of brutal but effective strikes. Clarke can’t keep track of which blood is her people and which blood is the enemy. It’s all run together on the ground and in her mind. 

Suddenly the men stop running from the room. Lexa peers around the corner and with one signal motions them inside. 

Before Clarke can react Lexa’s pounced into action. 

Cage is thrown back before he can reach his gun. His guards are dead and Clarke’s face is splattered with their blood.

His blows are sloppy and have no power behind them. He was raised to be a speaker, a leader in title only and it shows in the way the only punch he lands to Lexa’s side is brushed off. It’s the hesitation afterwards, like he’s proud of that one hit, that has Cage unprepared for the sheer violent retaliation of Lexa’s fist into the side of his skull. 

Clarke realizes that even without a sword, Lexa has no problem taking down a man twice her size. 

And that it’s impressive to watch. 

Indra and Lincoln are standing between her and the fight that’s going on. She wants to be there, Cage is the last player in this game. His men were taken out faster than they could reload their guns. He has no hope.

(That threat she once made to Anya, that the Ark and their guns would wipe out Grounders with their technology- it all seems childish now. Guns will save no one).

Lexa has Cage, takes out his knees, arm pushed under his and a hand steadying his neck. Cage’s arm is pulled backwards. Clarke counts the seconds and the tiny movements. How narrow Lexa’s eyes get just as the dull thud accompanies his arm popping from it’s socket. 

The noise he makes is pathetic and Lexa’s anger is written over her face. She takes out the knife from her belt, her face twisting to disgust as Cage starts pleading. Not coherent or dignified or anything that Lexa would respect in the least. 

But blubbering. Coughing out with tears and words that can’t reach any compassion. 

There’s something in the way her face loses the rage as the knife slices open his throat. Lexa bathes in the relief as the blood spurts out, pouring over her knuckles and Clarke doesn’t disguise the disgust she feels at the wet choking sounds Cage makes in his final seconds. His pale face grows whiter. Lexa’s hands run red. 

His body is tossed aside and Lexa wrings her hands. Blood splatters on the floor by her feet. 

“We have to get out of here.” Clarke pulls Lexa by the arm. “Cage is dead. The fighting needs to stop.” Finding her friends returns to the front of her mind. 

“The battle has not been won.” Lexa doesn’t remove Clarke’s grip. Indra watches them carefully. 

“More of my friends and your people will die if we don’t stop this.”

“War ends with the last kill.” Indra says. Octavia stands up straighter, looking at Clarke with a sadness. 

“We’re talking about war, not slaughter.” 

“They were the ones who began this.” Lexa states. “Their slaughter. Blood must have blood.”

Now she knows what Lexa screamed to rally her army. What Lincoln refused to tell her. Kill them all.

Clarke knows it’s neither the time nor the place to address their leadership differences so instead she turns and walks out of the room. If they want to call her a leader then she might as well lead. It’s up to them to follow. She’s not exactly helpless so if they don’t she’s sure that she can take care of herself. 

It’s a few steps before she looks back and sees Lincoln, Octavia, and Lexa behind her. 

She’s not sure exactly where they need to head but Clarke knows they need something. An announcement, anything to stop any more blood from being shed. Her time inside of Mount Weather was brief but she distinctly remembers the persistent overhead announcements. 

There has to be something. A radio room. Bellamy’d had to contact them from somewhere. 

Clarke tries to find a sign that she’s heading in the right direction but all she comes across are bodies. Some untouched by guns and swords. Some killed from exposure to radiation. Their skin is blistered and raw and Clarke remembers the woods, the sound of herself humming and the knife she slipped into Atom’s neck to end his suffering. 

She moves forward.

A vision of the map she made of the Mountain pops into her mind and she stops quickly. If she wasn’t surrounded by people with warrior reflexes the abrupt movement would have sent them all barreling into each other. Instead, she has a plan. 

“It’s on this level.” Clarke says, her mind on a completely other plane. “I remember it from my map.” She takes stock of the markings on the walls and figures out that they need to keep heading straight and it’ll be on the right. “This way, come on.”

Clarke moves so quickly it ends up being something of a jog. Her effort is vindicated when she sees that she’s correct, the radio room is exactly where she thought it’d be. This time there’s no need to radio Raven or mess with the wires. She takes the key card from her pocket and waves it in front of the scanner. Predictably the door opens.

Unpredictably there’s not a single guard in sight. Perhaps they’d all been committed to the battle effort or perhaps not. It’s not really her problem anymore. The fact is they’re in the clear to make an announcement. 

Clarke hurries over to the panel and looks at the controls. It’s not too hard to figure out the markings and what does what. She picks up the microphone and takes a few seconds to formulate what she’s going to say. One deep breath later and she’s ready. “Put down your weapons, Cage Wallace is dead.” Her voice sounds stronger than she feels flooding through Mount Weather. “I repeat. Put down your weapons, Cage Wallace is dead. Nobody else needs to die here today.”

She repeats herself one more time to get the message across and hopes that her warning is well taken. But then again, she won’t truly know until the dust settles. 

“Where’s that?” Octavia points to the television on the wall. The white room, Clarke’s old room, is on screen. 

“Quarantine.” Clarke replies. 

“One of your people?” Lincoln asks. 

“No.” Clarke shakes her head. “One of theirs.”

*

Clarke never thought she’d see something so clean and sterile again. Not after she escaped her own cell within the Mountain. 

The white room is tarnished with their bleak and bloodied presence. Clarke steps forward to the head of the pack, comfortably protected by all those behind her. President Wallace struggles to his feet with barely restrained horror in his eyes. He believes himself to be next and Clarke almost thinks about it. Denying the Grounders their last kill though is not her intention. 

“President Wallace.” Clarke addresses him. 

“Clarke.”

“My people are free. Your soldiers are dead, your son is no longer in charge-” Or breathing. “The Mountain is ours.”

Clarke knows that she has the strongest warriors behind her. She knows that President Wallace is looking and seeing Lexa coated in his son’s blood and Octavia drenched in the nameless dead’s last pleas. 

She becomes terrifying in his eyes. 

“The Mountain is yours.” Wallace cannot stand anymore. He falls back onto his bed. A tear escaping down his cheek. “We surrender.” 

Clarke nods. She turns to Lincoln. “Restrain him. Take him to the Ark.” 

Lincoln follows her orders and escorts President Wallace out to join the remainder of the women and children still alive and in their care. Raven calls in. All fronts are reporting the surrender of remaining guards and citizens. The fighting has stopped. 

Suddenly everyone is breathing hard and letting out grunts and sighs and unrestrained noises. Grounders hit the wall with their fists and bounce on their feet. Lexa’s tension channels out of her body and she sheathes her sword. Clarke feels the strength return to her legs and she joins their elation. 

“We won.” She states. They won. They won. They won. Every repetition in her head makes her feel lighter. 

Lexa holds out her arm to her. Her hand is sticky, crimson, and it doesn’t waver when Clarke clasps it. 

“Victory will be celebrated.” Lexa agrees. And she is smiling. She’s battle worn and bruised. Bleeding and grinning. 

The lump in Clarke’s throat about the moment in the tent almost bubbles to the surface but they’re out of place in this white, white room with so much left to get through between the door and their return to camp. So Clarke swallows it all and smiles back. 

Octavia receives her intentions after they leave the room. Lexa sweeps by with a happy look towards Indra. Clarke watches her back and embraces Octavia in a hard hug. Her friend buries her face into Clarke’s neck, laughing and rambling about how good it is to see her all in one piece. The words they had in the woods disappear in the moment. 

All of them alive. 

The 44 making their way back to the Ark, the Mountain in chains and the battle won.

Clarke holds on to Octavia with a renewed happiness. 

They won.

 

 

*


	2. Act Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> co-written canon-divergent from season two. this is turning into a monster so we both hope that you enjoy the ride.
> 
> you can find us on tumblr at diana-matheson and lucidliar.

*

The fighting has stopped by the time they make their way back through the mountain. But the dead are plenty and strewn about on the ground. Clarke can’t even begin to picture the size of the funeral pyre needed to send their souls away properly. 

Adrenaline still courses through her veins and that’s what keeps her from realizing that not all of the blood on her body is other people’s blood. 

She can deal with that later. 

Lexa limps away to address her people. It’s as proudly as Clarke has even seen someone lumber clearly in a great deal of pain. 

They can deal with that later too.

It’s done. For better or worse they’ve defeated Mount Weather. But at what cost? 

A cacophony of pained screams from the wounded characterize a distinct contrast to the frenzied chant Lexa leads the Grounders in. It’s frenzied and celebratory and yet Clarke watches closely. She sees the buckle in Lexa’s legs, the fresh blood still flowing freely staining the clothes on her back. The way Lexa holds herself up with a sword stuck firmly in the ground. 

If her warriors notice they know better than to question their Commander. 

Clarke touches her own arm and winces back in pain. A graze from a bullet, maybe, it’s nothing she can’t deal with. 

Her hands feel idle. She needs something to fix, something that she can control. 

There’s nothing keeping her from walking tall and strong towards the crowd surrounding Lexa. They all chant, they all cry out, and Lexa answers them with fire in her words, victory in her eyes but her body is crumbling. 

Lexa finishes speaking and the men and women watching let Clarke pass. Some bow their heads, others smile, as Clarke stands beside Lexa. Subtly she takes hold of her elbow. 

“I’ll take it from here.” Clarke’s words are for the Grounders, to leave and find their brothers and sisters and to scream into the sky that the mountain can’t take from them anymore. Her words mean the same to Lexa, except ‘hold on’ goes unspoken. 

Lexa doesn’t so much as lean on her, but grasp the scruff of Clarke’s jacket as they make the trek down to their camp. If she falls, Clarke is definitely going down with her. 

There are a few clan leaders hovering around the Commander’s tent but with a stern look Clarke sends them away and leads Lexa into the tent. 

“Get on the bed. I need a needle-” Clarke lets go of her hold on Lexa, trusting her to make her own way. “-hot water and cloths. I know I left thread here...”

“Get on the bed?” Lexa’s amusement is tainted. Her voice tries to carry the joke but the pain drowns out any lightness in her voice. 

Clarke huffs, reaching under the table for her discarded, patchwork medical bag. “This is not a joke.” She looks up to see Lexa struggling to position herself. “You’re going to have to take off your clothes before-”

Lexa doesn’t even need to comment that time.

Clarke gets up again. “Just stay still for a second. I don’t need you bleeding out everywhere.”

There’s a sigh of ‘too late’ by the time she joins Lexa. Clarke’s hands don’t shake as much when she unclips the shoulder guard from her body. She slows down slightly when Clarke realizes that she’s pulling at skin trying to take it off. 

It’s covered in blood. 

Clarke takes the rest of Lexa’s battle armor off, keeping track of when Lexa winces and where. When she has her just in her shirt, the problems come to light. 

“Lift your arm for a second.” Clarke’s voice is quiet.

Lexa manages to move her elbow up but it barely comes away from her side. 

“I’m going to have to cut this off.” Her sentences aren’t directed. They’re trains of thought getting her through this process. 

She takes Lexa’s discarded knife and carefully sliding the knife up from the waist to Lexa’s chest, before setting the knife aside and ripping the material with her hands. The last thing she needs is to have to explain to someone that she accidentally stabbed Lexa whilst trying to take her clothes off. 

“Keep looking at me, okay?” Clarke asks. “I know you want to sleep but I need you to just entertain me for a second.”

“I entertain no one.”

Clarke flutters her fingers over Lexa’s collarbones. “I’m sure if you put your mind to it...”

She follows in the footsteps of what her mom taught her- airway checks and bruises and bullets. Lexa’s skin is covered in dirt and sweat. 

“I need-”

“-you better not say sleep.” Clarke looks up at Lexa and then rips the shoulders to the shirt. The only part of it now on her body, is the back which sticks to Lexa. Soaked with blood.

It has to come off. There’s no way around it and Clarke knows that Lexa, for all her stoicism and tough exterior, will scream. 

“Okay, listen- Lexa.” Everything sounds like mumbles when she’s trying to keep Lexa conscious. “I’ve got to pull the shirt off your back. I have to treat the cuts underneath it.”

“Leave it.” 

Lexa’s sound mind is not the one talking right now.

“Solid plan.” Clarke says sarcastically. “I need something- you have to bite down on it.”

Lexa disturbs her visual search for something with a laugh that makes Clarke jump. “Really?”

Clarke shakes her head and grabs the knife she’d used to cut the shirt from the side of the bed. “I think I prefer you when you’re-” Clarke chooses not to finish that sentence. “Bite down on this.”

She presents the hilt to her and Lexa, who might not know exactly what is going on, still knows to bite. 

Clarke makes sure that Lexa isn’t going to keel over on the bed before crawling past with her medical kit to sit behind her. The first view of Lexa’s back is not one she wants to remember after this. Clarke takes a deep breath, steadying herself and brackets her legs around Lexa’s body. She’s as close as she can be, and needs to be, to make this as painless as possible.

Which is not very much. 

“We’re gonna do this slowly alright?” She searches for reassurance that isn’t there. Lexa gives her a grunt that probably just means, get on with it. 

Clarke pulls at the cleanest piece of shirt at the top of Lexa’s back. “Okay, okay.” She repeats. 

She predicted screaming. And for the first second that’s the noise that she, and no doubt the generals outside, are given. 

Clarke thinks, a few minutes and not a lot of ground covered later, that she would have preferred that Lexa kept screaming. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Clarke keeps cycling through apologies as Lexa’s reactions don’t conform to what she had expected. 

Lexa isn’t crying. 

There are more painful acts in this world than this and Lexa doesn’t waste tears for things less than that. 

But she shudders with them in her eyes and cries out weakly against the hilt of the knife. Piece by piece, cut by cut. Clarke reveals more than just fresh wounds but scars that litter the rest of Lexa’s back. 

“It’s almost over.” Clarke wipes her own eyes and tries not to let Lexa see how difficult this is. The last piece of her shirt is stuck to the base of her spine and she has to urge Lexa to lean forward in order to pull it off. 

One last strangled cry and the sound of the knife hitting the floor. Lexa doesn’t have the restraint in the moment to hide how sharp her breathing has become. 

Clarke places her hand on the side of Lexa’s shoulder. “I’ve got you. Okay.” Clarke sees Lexa nod. “I’ve got you.”

Washing Lexa’s back doesn’t take as much time as removing the shirt but Clarke is more hesitant when she dabs at the cuts. She retrieves the knife again to cut off the rest of the bindings on Lexa’s chest. They’re ruined and one of the cuts dips below it. Lexa grits her teeth again when she removes it. 

After a second of staring at her back, Clarke takes off her jacket and hands it to Lexa. “If you just hold onto that-” She says.

“I’m fine.” Lexa sounds more aware than she was before. The pain kicking her back into sharp focus. 

Clarke’s eyes are drawn away but back again. “Okay.” She reaches for her medical kit once the worst of the damage has been cleaned up. Nothing looks infected. Lexa hasn’t started showing any signs of being poisoned or worse-

She just needs to stitch her up. 

Clarke makes sure that everything is sterile and in place. There’s a lot of work to be done and she wants to make it as quick as possible. They’re both tiring. They’re both waiting for the after effects of battle to come crashing down on them. Clarke needs her adrenaline to hold for now. Just until she’s finished with this. 

“Do you need anything for this?” Clarke asks. “I’m not sure,” She bites her lip. “I don’t have anything to dull the pain.”

Lexa’s back straightens in a subtle preparation for what’s to come. “We have gone through the worst, Clarke.”

“Try to keep your mind on something else.” Clarke advises. 

“My mind should always be focused when it involve being stabbed in the back.” Lexa says. 

“Yeah, well. My needle, my rules.” Clarke mutters.

Her needle goes through the first and deepest cuts with a practiced ease. Clarke keeps Lexa talking about anything she can think of, anything but the battle and the warriors they’ve lost, anything and everything. 

“The area where the drop ship landed?” Clarke asks. “It’s not far, well not that far-”

“NavYard.” Lexa repeats.

“Navy-yard.” Clarke tries again. She messes up a couple more times just to hear Lexa sigh with fake frustration as she finishes stitching one of the wounds. 

“NavYard.” Lexa teaches her. “There was a village there many years before I was born but the people there were driven out by fire.”

Clarke stops for a second. Some things come full circle. 

“And now that land-”

“There is no village but the land remains theirs by name.” Lexa takes a deep breath as Clarke starts up again. “You should come with me to the capitol.” Lexa’s voice shakes and Clarke is up close and personal with her naked back so she can see the way her shoulder blades tense.

A glimpse to the future. All the things that Clarke was afraid to think about before they stormed the Mountain. “Is that where you’re from?”

Lexa nods. “I was born there.” She looks behind her and Clarke can’t even see her wince as she threads the needle through her skin again. There’s a lot of work to get through. “Where I trained with Anya, where I was called to lead.”

It feels like a lifetime ago that she was dragging Anya to the drop ship ground after escaping from Mount Weather, not just three weeks.

“Then my home became my people.”

“Tell me about the capitol.” Clarke murmurs, distracting her from the pinching that she’s putting her skin through. 

Lexa stares off ahead of her. The sounds of the camp grow louder then softer, as soldiers are reunited with friends, family and lovers. “It’s untouched land before the ocean. The bombs that fell before I was born, before the birth of the last commander, and before her- laid waste to everything. But some things remained.”

Clarke thinks about Mount Weather and how so many things could have been avoided if it had been destroyed before they’d arrived too.

“There are books.” Lexa mutters. “More everytime I return. Warriors in training learn to read before they pick up a sword.”

Clarke smiles at this. “That sounds familiar to me.”

She talks quietly of swords and books and learning from masters. Lexa paints a picture of herself as a willing student surrounded by a thriving culture of warriors and survivors. Polis becomes real in Clarke’s mind. Something fresh and unlike the world she’s seen so far. Not the Ark, not the Mountain.

Clarke’s hands still over Lexa’s shoulders. The last cut has been tended to and she makes quick work of tying it off. The blood has been washed off, mostly, but Clarke can see how deeply Lexa has fought her battles. 

The scars of the past, and those that she’s killed in combat, follow the new additions down her spine. 

The tattoo on her arm that Clarke wants so desperately to ask about. 

Clarke clears her throat and places a hand in the center of Lexa’s back briefly. 

“These stitches need time. And you need to rest properly.” Clarke says in a firm voice in the hope that Lexa will take her advice seriously. “Nyko can take them out once your wounds have healed so try not to pop them open before then.”

Clarke stands taking a cloth with her. She washes the dried blood off her hands, dousing them in alcohol, before sitting in front of Lexa. 

“Relax,” Clarke waits. “Your face is a mess.”

Blood and ash and dirt. Clarke is as gentle as she can be but every now and then she’ll uncover a bruise by her cheek or brush the cut on her lip. Washing Lexa’s face is like clearing away the last traces of the battle from her body. 

The cloth is taking away the grime and the sweat but it’s not taking away the redness around Lexa’s eyes or the shaking that’s starting in her hands as she continues. She’s being held together by will and hope and the promise of sunrise. Lexa is steadier than her now, floating above her pain, watching Clarke with curiosity that intensifies. 

Clarke isn’t even cleaning blood away anymore. There’s nothing there but bruised skin and the faintness of the paint being washed off. 

“Clarke.” Lexa has taken hold of her wrist, keeping the cool cloth against her cheek. 

Clarke’s legs are aching and she shifts to kneel in front of Lexa. The furs on the bed are soft to touch when she steadies herself. Everything feels like it’s about to crash and Clarke just wants one moment of clarity to see her through the night. Something that doesn’t echo with the sound of Lexa in pain. 

“Hey.” It’s a whisper. It’s Lexa tilting her chin up from where her gaze had landed just below her collar. “When was the last time you drank something, Clarke?”

Of course. There’s a fever accompanying her crashing feeling and Clarke places both hands on the bed, either side of Lexa’s hips. Lexa is still leaning forward so Clarke’s forehead comes to rest against Lexa’s shoulder.

“I just need a minute.” Clarke breathes out against Lexa’s skin. 

Lexa shudders.

“Just-” Just a minute. Just something. Just the air to cool and for her not to feel like moving away will hurt her more. 

Then Lexa places her hand on the back of her neck. There’s a shift making Clarke suddenly dig her fingers into the furs when Lexa’s hand moves to run her fingers through Clarke’s hair. It makes it easier to turn her head and close her eyes, brushing her nose underneath Lexa’s ear. 

Lexa’s lips are a soft surprise against her cheek. Her hand doesn’t move from her head and nothing else betrays the emotion behind the kiss. But Lexa presses it for more than a second. It becomes something else. More than a thank you for surviving, for helping me to win, for healing-

It’s an understanding of everything Clarke has brought to her. 

And Clarke needs that. 

Lexa’s back is a mess and she’s not wearing a shirt. Clarke doesn’t trust herself to stand anymore and her hands can’t be left idle now. 

But she can’t quite move them either. But still she needs something, anything. Clarke keeps herself close, her cheek brushing Lexa’s as she moves away from her only to move closer again. There’s that look in Lexa’s eyes that she saw two days ago and whether or not she’s ready, Clarke wants this now. 

The numbness from coming close to dying fades into feeling when she kisses Lexa. 

Lexa gives her that first few seconds. The lights change and Clarke feels like she’s gone back in time but the moment isn’t there to dwell in. In contrast to the soft press of lips before, Lexa surges forward with fervor.

“Your back.” Clarke can’t break the kiss much longer than one concern. 

Lexa finds strength somewhere. “I don’t care.” Her voice gives everything away and she has Clarke on her back, pressed into the comfort of Lexa’s bed. 

There’s no soft lighting or pauses to gather her thoughts. Clarke feels safe for the first time since landing but it doesn’t mean she wants safety. Or that Lexa is going to give it to her. 

This is coping. This is hiding underneath and forgetting everything she’s supposed to be doing. This is ignoring the hundreds screaming outside and everyone who is looking for her. 

This is Clarke ignoring how Lexa winces when she drags the shirt from Clarke’s body. Ignoring how the kisses become harder and desperate. That it feels like they’re tethered together, pulling each other apart just to hang onto something. 

They leave marks to remind themselves that scars come from more than just battles. 

Clarke gives in to it all. To the sounds she makes and receives in return. To Lexa grinding down on her thigh and trapping her hand between Clarke’s legs. To everything being stopping and starting and taking. 

Clarke leaves fingerprints on the backs of Lexa’s thighs and she can hear patrolling soldiers circling the tent. They won’t come in, she knows, but there won’t be anything to hide behind tomorrow. 

It’s barely anything, rubbing and fucking, moving against each other but the closeness and the need is enough. Clarke kisses her again and Lexa’s moans are playing out against the crackling of fire outside. Clarke wants more, she wants her louder and to take-

The fire becomes the only noise as Clarke takes from Lexa. Her body collapsing heavier on Clarke’s chest gives her the feeling, the pressure she wants and there’s an overwhelming realization- they’re alive- that has her panting into Lexa’s collarbone.

“I leave in three days.” Lexa quietly breaks. She isn’t looking at her, choosing to whisper the words against the side of her head. 

The weight of responsibility comes crashing down all at once. Her heart and her body take a stand against her mind. Lexa is asking for something and even though a hand is caressing her side, and she can still feel everything, it feels like too much.

The world comes filtering in once again. Crying, laughter, the sound of boots cracking over twigs, the whir of machinery, the white noise of a radio-

“My people need me here.” Clarke replies, her heart torn at having to deliver more news that Lexa wishes sounded different. 

The words give them a slight separation. Clarke slides from underneath Lexa, making sure that she’s not knocking her in anyway. Lexa settles on her stomach, the only way she’ll sleep relatively painlessly tonight, watching Clarke lay on her side next to her. 

“One day.”’ Lexa pauses to give her that tentative half smile like she knows that Clarke wouldn’t give her any other answer. “Polis will change the way you think about us.”

Her time with Lexa, tonight and for the foreseeable future, is coming to a close. Clarke has other injured parties to attend to, people to heal, people to console, sleep to accept and to wake up and do it all again. Except in a few days Clarke won’t have this time to share the burden with someone else.

Soon all of this, the tents- the camp at the base of the Mountain- will be gone. 

“Lexa.” Clarke taps her foot against Lexa’s ankle. “I don’t need a city to change the way I think about you.”

Clarke has seconds to appreciate the reception of her words before Lexa relaxes into sleep. Lexa doesn’t feel the kiss Clarke presses against her shoulder. In the morning, they don’t talk about it.

*

Three days pass. Time marked with conversations and decisions that can’t be put off. The camp at the base of Mount Weather has been packed up and the Grounder army heads to Polis, Tondc, and the other villages they left to answer Lexa’s cry for war. 

The survivors of the Mountain are few, mostly innocents, and scared of what lies beyond their walls. Kane and several members of the makeshift council are staying temporarily to work out peace for them. To calm and clean the devastation for those left behind. Dante Wallace will return after answering for his son’s crimes against the Grounders and the Ark. He will spend the rest of his life in the Mountain. He will die. A new leader will be elected and their lives will go on. 

Short term, this is all Clarke can ask for. The complications of keeping those cured still inside and denying treatment to those that aren’t haven’t been discussed yet. 

Clarke watches the last of the camp fires being extinguished as people prepare to leave. She has her belongings in her bag and a loaded gun for the way back. The war is won but their enemies are still out there. 

Her mom, who she hasn’t seen for more than a few minutes since the fighting stopped, comes with her to see off the first of the Grounders. Abby hovers behind her and Clarke has an inkling as to why as she approaches Lexa by her horse. 

As with her mom, she hasn’t had time to talk to Lexa since the night the battle ended. This isn’t the time to start a conversation neither of them are willing to have either. Clarke pushes her hair out of her face and clears her throat. Lexa fixes something onto the side of her horse and, after looking over Clarke’s shoulder, Lexa holds out her hand for Clarke to take. It feels like a throwback to the first time Clarke met Anya, but Lexa smiles for all her people to see. 

This is what Lexa looks like in the aftermath of war. There’s lightness that wasn’t there before and the dark make up she wears, for victory and mourning, doesn’t dampen that. 

Octavia stands behind her with Indra, swords on her back and one of their modified drop ship backpacks stuffed full of Ark supplies and food for her journey. Clarke knew that she was never going to come back to the Ark. It wasn’t a place where she was ever felt like she belonged. Indra’s protection and her affection for Octavia is subtle but the pride in her stance as Octavia prepares to walk beside her is unwavering. 

“Polis is five days ride from here.” Lexa directs. “I will bring the news of our victory and our alliance to my people.”

Clarke nods. “I have your maps.” Her eyes soften with concern. “May we meet again.” 

She recites the words and draws comfort from them. Lexa lets go of her arm and places a hand on her horse. “May we meet again.” Lexa says. “Clarke kom Skaikru.”

Lexa mounts her horse and turns, along with several others, to lead the descent to Polis. Clarke watches her back, the way her red sash rests against her still injured back, before she’s ambushed. 

Octavia is less formal with her goodbyes, throwing her arms around Clarke and pulling her tightly against her body. “Keep things running, alright Chief?”

Clarke buries her nose into Octavia’s shoulder. “Don’t call me chief.” She holds the back of Octavia’s head, unnecessarily protective now that the battle is over. “Be good alright?”

“Good?” Octavia pulls back, squeezing Clarke’s shoulders. “I’m going to be amazing.”

Clarke laughs at Octavia’s confidence. She was born for this. First Ark person on the ground in 100 years. Clarke can see how she thrives and how she’s never looked more at home now. “I know you will.” 

Octavia pulls away and Clarke can hear her mother speaking to Kane behind her. Octavia glances over like Lexa had. 

“Are you going to be alright?” Octavia’s voice drops just for the two of them. “The other night...”

“I’ll be fine.” She’s aware of her mother’s eyes on her back. She knows what Octavia wants to hear but this isn’t a conversation she can have right now. It doesn’t feel like the right time and it’s certainly not the proper audience “Just take care of yourself.”

Indra grows impatient with Octavia and calls something to her. Octavia stiffens and she has to go. Clarke smiles and touches Octavia’s shoulder. “Go on. Make us all proud.”

Octavia grins and steps back. “I’ll be back before winter.”

She runs after her mentor and disappears into the trees. Clarke hugs herself as the camp grows smaller. 

“Clarke.” When she looks behind her, her mom is flanked by Ark soldiers and their people. Raven and Wick are leaning on each other looking better than they had coming back into camp. Monty and Miller are mirroring them, still squinting at the sun like it’s hard to see after so long inside. Jasper sits on a crate with a book in his hands, staring wistfully at the mountain. 

Abby smiles tightly. “Time to go home.”

The word doesn’t quite sit right. 

*

Everything looks the same when they get back and maybe that’s the problem. Clarke didn’t realize how much time she’d spent in the last few weeks in Tondc, with the Grounders, with Lexa.

With Lexa is sort of the unspoken thing that nobody, not her mom or Bellamy or Raven, wants to mention. Lexa who’s probably in Polis right now and no doubt doing--

\--whatever it is a Commander does when they’re not preparing for battle. 

Sometimes for all of the time they spent together Clarke forgets that it really wasn’t much time at all. 

But she can’t think about that because it’s more and more clear that the outside is merely a distant possibility. The Ark is supposed to be her home now with it’s electric fence and the people who’d once imprisoned her free to roam and laugh and act like this is all normal. 

Clarke spends the majority of her time patrolling the perimeter fence outside the Ark. Logically she knows there’s no threat, her mother doesn’t waste any time reminding her the Grounders aren’t coming around, and Dante Wallace has already been returned to Mount Weather on a metaphorical short leash. 

Everyone says they’re safe. Everyone acts like they’re safe. And yet Clarke can’t stay still. 

There’s a twitch in her fingers, a twitch in her whole body. An incomparable buzzing feeling that’s telling her she needs to keep moving. She’s not safe no matter what they tell her. She hasn’t been safe since the moment Jaha and the council sent them down in the pod. 

Since the moment they all crashed on Earth she’s been moving, fighting. 

Surviving. 

When her mom isn’t arguing with Kane or Jaha over who’s the most powerful person on the Ark she’s trying to get Clarke to stay in one place. She gives her these little tasks that she thinks someone of Clarke’s station (whatever that is) should be doing. Mostly busy work, mostly in the medical bay. 

It’s mind numbing. 

It’s a far cry from leading an army into battle. She never wanted to be a leader. Even now it’s hard to think of herself that way even if that’s essentially what she was. 

But she doesn’t know if she can be idle. 

Subservient. 

The Chancellor’s daughter. 

Any way she rolls the situation around in her head it doesn’t feel like it fits. The sun starts to set and Clarke knows that if she doesn’t head back soon her mom will send a search party for her. Because that’s her life now. As much as Dante Wallace is on a short leash Clarke’s is even shorter. 

Clarke makes a quick decision. Let them search because she’s not ready to go back into the Ark yet. She can’t stand the sight of it. 

Not yet. 

*

Her ‘stunt’ earns her an even shorter leash. Clarke’s afternoons become confined to the medical bay where her mom can usually have someone watch over her as she goes about organising the supplies they have. 

Her rebellion comes in the way she procrastinates. Clarke’s friends are all pushed into the corners of the Ark, their contact is limited and free time short. Almost purposefully. But Bellamy still managed to sneak into the medical bay to hand off some of Octavia’s things.

“She asked you to look after it until she got back.” He’s walking on eggshells even after everything he’s done. The council are warring over whether or not to let him train as a member of the guard again. It’s a painstaking and pathetic discussion. Their mistake is that they think Bellamy could do anything else. “I think they’re Lincoln’s.”

Leather bound books that Clarke carries around in her pack, away from the hands of those that disapprove. She’d thanked him and they’d hidden away in the shelves until Jackson chased him back outside. 

Clarke has a distraction now. The pages are full, top to bottom, of Lincoln’s scratchy handwriting and drawings. Instead of making sure sterile needles are set alongside clean gauze and disinfectant, Clarke loses herself and the hours of the day within Lincoln’s translations. 

The readings make for better company than Abby, who’s only word seems to be ‘no’ when Clarke comes to call.

Sitting down to dinner, inside the Chancellor’s chambers because letting her outside isn’t on Abby’s agenda, Clarke can only make her case. 

“We know the woods.” Clarke argues. She might as well be speaking a different language to her mother, who looks at the book in her hand like it’s done something to her. “Bellamy and Miller can have a hunting party ready in an hour if you let them. We managed to hunt before you came down-”

“The difference being that you don’t need to hunt.” Abby presses. She’s wearing the Chancellor’s pin and Clarke hates how of all the things that survived the Ark falling to the ground, that has to be one of them. “The farm is ahead of schedule on planting. We have soldiers in the woods that can do what you kids have done but better. There’s no need to put yourself in harms way.”

Clarke’s hand tightens on the spine of the book. Kids. Children. Taking a deep breath can only keep the irritation at bay. “Sure. But lets not forget that those ‘kids’ you sent down survived without Ark weapons.” 

“Clarke.” Abby’s voice becomes strained again.

“And they’re good hunters.” Clarke defends. She ignores the food on the table and gets up. 

“I’m not denying that.” Abby replies. “But you don’t have to do that anymore. You don’t have to survive and worry about your next meal. You’re safe.”

Safe with parents and adults and rules. Safe because the responsibility of worrying about winter and food and warmth has been taken from them. Safe behind the fence and the walls and away from all the nightmarish Reapers and mutated animals that have barely made their way into the Ark’s imagination. Clarke has sketched her way through the darkness and fought blindly with blood on her hands. 

Abby doesn’t see anything but Clarke’s well scrubbed face and borrowed clothes. 

“I need some air.” She takes the book and heads for the door. 

“Clarke-” Abby shouts after her. There’s a warning not to go outside and Clarke can’t handle that being her mother’s biggest concern. After everything that’s happened in the last few days, their biggest problem revolves around Clarke wanting to see the stars.

Clarke walks through the Ark with purpose. Despite crashing it’s still easy enough to navigate her way through the ship. A few turns and broken beams dodged Clarke finds herself pushing the door lock to Mecha station until the sound of air releasing gives way for the door opening. 

Raven is busy tinkering with something on her workbench. She’s lit up by a dozen or so light-boards with notes about circuits and wires. One behind her, the one that lights up her face like a halo, has a half wiped out map of Mount Weather still sketched on it. She stares at Clarke, surprised at the sight of her.

Clarke tries not to chew on the inside of her cheek under her gaze. “I need somewhere to hide out from my mother.”

She remembers that Raven held her tightly before Clarke left for Tondc and Clarke holds that memory close to her chest whenever Raven’s eyes glaze over when she talks. 

Eventually Clarke stops talking and she’s not really sure if it’s because she runs out of things to say (and when it comes to her mother, this argument can go on and on) or if it just feels right to watch Raven work and let her own thoughts go for a while. It’s not companionable but it’s civil at the very least and somewhere in the silence there’s at least a little bit of understanding. 

The last part might be a stretch because after all it’s not really possible to get all of that from a few screw turns and the sound of metal clanking on a table. 

But it’s nice. And if not that at least it’s better than constantly being told who she is. At least Raven knows her for who she is. 

For better or for worse.

“Look,” Raven puts the screwdriver back on the table with more force than necessary. It breaks Clarke out of her mini-trance and the annoyed look on Raven’s face means she’s about to get an earful. “We know you’re right. This situation sucks. Tasting freedom and then having it snatched back. But Abby has a point. They’ve made it clear that they’re taking it from here.”

Clarke sets her book aside for now. Without the weight of it her hands feel useless. “I think I’d rather you go back to being mad at me than hearing you side with my mom.”

Raven snorts and pulls at a strap on her brace. “Yeah, well, I’d rather go back to a lot of things.”

Clarke shuts up for a couple of minutes after that. Giving Raven time to get used to the silence again. Her head is buzzing with a thousand voices and complaints and worries. As much as she wishes it was as easy as just holding her mom’s hand and trusting in her, she lost that part of her the moment she felt the tranquilizer dart hitting her neck.

She can’t go back to doing nothing. To an assigned job and acting like the Earth is an extension of the Ark. Not after everything she’s seen, heard- all that she’s done.

Clarke doesn’t know how to express how she can almost feel the weight of over five hundred deaths on her shoulders, from her hands alone. Lincoln’s book says nothing about the marks for kills in combat, but Clarke has wondered if that’s why Grounders choose to cut individuals marks into their skin; so they don’t have the phantoms following them forever. 

Clarke knows that there isn’t enough room for the mark that was left by Finn. Let alone anyone else.

Clarke looks at her while Raven ignores her. Clarke wants more than this.

*

Clarke starts spending more and more time in Raven’s workspace. Raven never fixes the door and Clarke never finds herself locked out. Despite how clipped their conversations can be. She tries to keep to herself most of the time; reading and mumbling pieces of Trigedasleng from where she hides on Raven’s bunk. It doesn’t draw much attention as Raven never tells her to shut up or get out, too busy on her own projects and the things that Sinclair brings for her to fix. 

They work in their own corners and look at each other sparingly. Clarke appreciates the time that she has to herself. Her mother has given up on trying to keep her to the routine in the medical bay. Clarke doesn’t need to be there now that the worst injuries are from people pulling muscles lifting heavy things or tripping over roots while in the forest. Their discomfort only serves to remind her how unprepared they are for the ground. 

Clarke turns the page and huffs at the thought. 

They were here first. They were sent to die and seen as expendable but after all that, they proved them wrong and they survived. They fought against those trying to kill them, Grounders and the elements, and came out (somewhat) victorious. 

Then the Ark crashes down with them just to pat them on the shoulder like it’s charming that they’re still there. Clarke grips her book and forgets what sentence she was reading. 

She’s about given up on the sentence when the door opens. Raven looks up curiously and Clarke follows her lead. 

Monty shuts the door behind him and answers their curious stares with a tight lipped expression. “They’ve pulled me off farming.”

“What?” Clarke sets aside her book. “What are you talking about?”

Monty shuffles to Raven’s workstation and sits on a stool. His feet swing in the air. “The plots just outside the fence? I was drawing up some plans to extend them. The ground by the Ark is basically a mess because of the crash and even someone who hasn’t lived and worked on Agro would know that you’re going to have a hard time getting anything to grow-”

Clarke isn’t sure she’s going to like the next few words out of his mouth. 

“-and apparently the boss doesn’t really appreciate the helpful hints. So he’s reassigned me.” Monty shrugs like it doesn’t bother him. 

“He can’t do that.” Raven speaks up. “He’s been on the ground less than a month-” She tosses whatever she’s been working on back to the table. It’s important enough to keep her attention from Clarke but not Monty.

“He’s just throwing his weight around.” Monty tries to defend a poor decision but he ends up shrugging sadly. 

Clarke sits up straighter. “We should go talk to him. He can’t just reassign you for no good reason. You know the woods, you know the plants better than anyone on the Ark.”

Monty’s given her something to think about other than how to hold a conversation in a different language and whether she’ll ever get the chance to use it. 

“What?” Raven turns her attention to Clarke. “And you think he’s going to listen to you?” Something drops in her stomach. Raven laughs bitterly, not at her, but for her. “You think they’ll listen to any of us?”

Clarke almost says that they have to. Like her words have power behind them. Like they’d make a difference, that all she needs to do is have five minutes with Monty’s supervisor and bring him around to their way of thinking. Monty knows the land, he has the skills and the experience that they lack right now. Why wouldn’t they take advantage of that?

Monty stares at her with sad eyes and the scar under his eye, from his escape from the Mountain, reminds her why. 

“They don’t have time for this.” Clarke says. “If they’re not letting us hunt and help with something, they’re making it harder on us all.”

“If we want any chance of actually growing something-” Monty explains. “-they need to give it the best chance possible. Good conditions and weather- fertile ground.”

The Ark didn’t land softly. It burnt and disrupted and tore the ground. Defacing the Earth. 

“We could talk to Abby.” Raven suggests. Clarke notes that her mother is always the first one Raven suggests. “Or Kane.”

“They’re a little preoccupied.” Clarke picks up her book again. “With the election.”

Clarke is so used to talking about things that actually matter. How they’re going to get to Mount Weather, where their next meal is coming from, how to defend their camps; that the idea that her mom and Kane are trying to rally votes from the remainder of those on the Ark seems unimportant in contrast. 

There’s also that feeling that knows that it doesn’t matter who wins, Clarke and the rest of those who landed with her will always be treated as they were on the Ark. Outsiders, criminals, untrustworthy-

It’s not a feeling she’s used to anymore.

*

Over the next few days Raven’s workspace becomes a hotspot for everyone who finds themselves reassigned in one way or another. Jasper follows Monty in one day and hunches over on the desk poking things that Raven is using to fix her brace. 

Raven tells him to stop but that just means he turns to Wick’s stuff and that has a tendency to explode. One day Jasper mixes two acids instead of an acid and a base and that has Raven calling Bellamy in to clean up the mess before it burns through the floor. Raven is definitely more annoyed than anything and even that doesn’t compare to the look of despair Bellamy wears when he sees everyone in the room. 

Clarke doesn’t think the janitor’s uniform suits him. She’s too used to seeing his hair covering his face and his arms covered with dust and cuts. There’s no gun with him either, just a bucket and a sigh when Jasper apologizes to him on entry.

“I didn’t think-”

“That’s new.” Bellamy kind of shoves them all out of the way to clean up and when that’s done he doesn’t leave. 

When Miller comes in search of him, they end up getting into a heated game of cards as they all dodge their work assignments. Clarke knows that eventually someone will come looking for them, but Raven is beating them all and the later it gets the more she’s talking to Clarke and it’s better than she’s felt in weeks.

But she could feel better.

There’s something about all of them being cooped up in Raven’s room, joking and laughing and forgetting about everything outside that makes Clarke think about Unity Day, back at the drop ship. Before everything got really fucked up. The bonfire, the celebrations, the games, the drinking-

Oh.

“You know what would make this better.” Clarke says suddenly. 

“Letting someone else win for once?” Bellamy replies. “You’re kicking my ass.”

Clarke looks at Monty. “You know your still? The one from Unity Day.” It’s totally irresponsible and stupid and exactly what she needs right now. “What if we went and got it?”

Leaving the Ark and the feeling of claustrophobia that she never had a word for until she came to Earth. She wants to be outside. She wants to disappear into the night and not have to think about who’s looking for her. 

“It’s pitch black out there.” Jasper says. 

“Cover of darkness.” Bellamy interrupts. He looks as enthusiastic with the idea as Clarke feels. “No one would notice us leaving.”

“We know these woods.” Clarke says. “We could be there and back before dawn with it. No one would know.”

It’s like she’s hearing someone else suggest this. Not her words. Not her voice.

“I could just build a new one?” Monty suggests. “Might take me a few hours but we have time.”

Clarke shakes her head, suddenly restless. “It’s not about that.”

It’s about the memory of it. Before the Ark, before rules and before their freedom was taken away and boxed again. 

They lose themselves in the thought of it and Clarke has Miller and Bellamy looking for their jackets again and talking about how easy it would be to acquire some guns for protection. Sneaking out will be easy. Monty and Jasper are in and Clarke turns to Raven. 

“Give me ten minutes.” Raven says. “I’ll get you some radios. You bring back the spoils.”

Raven ends up giving them her code to the weapons lockers and Clarke pulls out a pistol for herself and Bellamy. After that it’s not too hard to sneak past the guards and out of Camp Jaha. The guards change shift at the same times. It’s amazing how much they’ve observed from not being allowed to do anything. 

The trek from Camp Jaha to the drop ship seems shorter now that they’ve busied themselves with a mission of sorts. They don’t bother with small talk because the last thing they need to do is arouse the attention of anything in the woods that wishes them ill will. 

But it’s a companionable trek regardless and after a few hours of walking they reach the ship. It looks almost as terrible as they’d left it. Ash and bones scattered around the perimeter, holes blown in the side. But it’s their mess and it fills Clarke with pride to walk up to it. 

“Raven.” Clarke pulls the radio off of her side for the first time. “We’ve arrived at the ship.”

“Great.” Clarke can hear Raven trying to look disinterested. “Now get the package and hurry up and get back here. They’ll notice if you’re not here by morning.”

Monty beats her to saying ‘copy that’ and he and Jasper do their little high five thing. 

Walking into the drop ship is like going back in time. The last time they were in here- well, fond memories of trying to make sure that Anya didn’t kill her and being captured by the Mountain Men. 

Clarke speedwalks up the ramp with Bellamy. A quick sweep of the ship uncovers no hidden threats. The last thing they need is to get killed by someone using the ship as their new home.

Monty sets about piling together his stash and Raven fills their silence with questions about finding things that she could use for her work. 

She gets cut off pretty quickly. 

Clarke looks around the ship. As much as the outside felt like coming home the inside feels like rehashing things she’s not quite ready to deal with. It’s mired with the blood of her people. She’s not quite sure if its Raven’s or Murphy’s blood on the floor underneath her feet. 

She’s not so sure it matters. It’s there all the same. 

She looks away and wills Monty to hurry up so they can start heading back to Camp Jaha. Bellamy climbs back down from the top hatch and comes to lean against the wall next to her. 

“You miss it too.” Bellamy’s voice is low and gruff and not the least bit smug. He smirks at her with the knowledge that he’s right and Clarke can’t help but roll her eyes in lieu of an answer. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since…” He pauses and his smirk drops. They both know what’s hanging there. 

It’s too much to put into actual, physical words. Some he can say and others that he has no right to even touch. 

“Got it.” Monty pops back in with huge smile, Miller, and an armful of parts. Without being told Bellamy walks over and divides the parts up between himself, Miller, and Monty. Jasper somehow manages to avoid carrying anything.

Clarke takes one long look around the ship and turns towards the door. “Let’s go.”

It’s pitch black when they step back outside and Clarke digs through her pack to find the flashlight that Raven had slammed into her hand before they left. She clicks it on and that combined with the soft light of the moon lights their way. 

As they walk the crunch of the forest floor is the only thing that keeps Clarke’s mind otherwise occupied. All she wants to think about is the snapping branches and the nostalgic feeling of before. Before the Ark crashed to the ground, before Mount Weather took her friends, before-

Just before. 

They must have been walking for an hour or two. The moon’s moved across the sky and Clarke figures it’s about time to radio Raven so she can get ready to sneak them back in. “Raven, you there?”

The crackle of the radio clicking off is the only response that she gets. “Raven, can you hear me?”

“No answer?” Bellamy comes up beside her. Clarke shakes her head and they keep moving forward. The radio crackles again and she hears something coming through but it’s not clear. 

“I didn’t get that.” She releases the button and hopes their signal isn’t somehow being interfered with by the trees or something beyond their control. 

“Clarke.” She stops so suddenly that Bellamy nearly runs into her and almost drops parts of the still. Clarke feels a chill down to her spine because that’s not Raven’s voice. 

“Mom?” 

*

“Leave it all here.” Bellamy says when they reach the edge of the forest. “We can come back for it another time. We take it in with us and they destroy it all.”

Monty and Jasper disappear behind some trees and hide the rest of his still. They cover it with moss and branches until they can’t see it. Raven’s gear is stashed further down as well.

Miller shifts awkwardly looking at the main gate. “I don’t suppose there’s anyway to slip in unnoticed is there?”

Clarke takes a step forward. “Not this time.”

They take their time because their eventual fate is the same. The main gate lights blare out at them when they get close enough and Clarke has her hands up, because the last thing they need is to be accidentally shot, when the gates are pulled back and Chief Miller stands to meet them.

Miller doesn’t try to hide behind Bellamy like Jasper and Monty do. Clarke raises her chin. “Chief.”

Clarke hangs on to the last joys of the breeze on her face before the Ark guards bully them all inside. She doesn’t have to wait long to see the anger on her mother’s face. She doesn’t get her words until they’ve been led to a room beside the council office. Clarke immediately positions herself on the other side of table, creating a barrier between herself and the guards and giving her a good view of her exit. 

Bellamy and Monty flank her, but before Jasper and Miller can join them, Abby addresses Chief Miller.

“Take Jasper and Miller to the mess hall.” Abby instructs. “Sit them with Miss Reyes until I arrive.”

Kane opens his mouth and Clarke knows that a protest is coming but this is between her and Abby. A fight between a mother and her daughter that her friends have gotten themselves caught in the middle of. 

“Yes, Chancellor.” Kane only adds the title to be respectful. He means it less and less everyday now that he’s trying to get the title back. It’s hard to play the same game as before, they all know it, when they’ve seen each other and saved each other from the worst. 

Clarke sits across from her mom, Monty and Bellamy to her left unable to leave.

“You took radios. You stole guns from the armory.” Abby starts. “We questioned three guards about the missing equipment before we figured it out.”

“Questioned?” Bellamy interrupts. “So you didn’t jump straight to shock lashing?”

“My advice to you right now, Mr Blake, is to avoid giving me any ideas.” Abby doesn’t even look at him. 

“You risked your safety, and the safety of those with you, for what?” Abby stares her down. “Because I don’t see the point, Clarke. I really don’t.”

Clarke doesn’t cross her arms but she makes herself take up as much room as possible. 

“I suppose you’ll be pleased to hear that Raven isn’t giving you up.” Abby continues. “But without a reason I’m going to have to assume the worst.”

Clarke steadies her voice. “And the worst being? That we left camp and made a smart choice to protect ourselves while doing it?”

“The smart choice would have been not to leave camp and wander around the woods at night. What were you thinking? All of you.” She brings Bellamy and Monty back into the situation. Like she’s responsible for weighing their guilt since there’s no one else to do it for them. 

“So what are you going to do?” Clarke asks incredulously. “Punish us? Lash us?”

Abby looks mildly horrified at the thought. “No, Clarke, no. I would never-”

“Treat us like criminals?” Their lives are a cycle of imprisonment. Different cells, same jailers. “A little too late for that.”

“Stop it.” Abby demands. “It’s not unreasonable for me to keep you here--to keep you safe.”

“You can try to keep us here. You can pretend that running for Chancellor and establishing the Ark on the ground is something worthwhile and good and above what the Grounders do or what Cage Wallace did-” Clarke attacks with words because her fists are clenched tightly by her sides. “But that doesn’t mean anything to us. To my people, the 100 you sent to the ground- there might not be a lot of us left but you sent us down here without thinking about the consequences of your actions.”

“Our actions had nothing but consequences and we learned from them.” Clarke continues. “And we’re doing our best to try and fit in here again.”

Bellamy nods next to her.

“You can bring the Ark to the ground, but you can’t expect us to call it home.” It hasn’t been home in years. 

Her words must have some effect because Abby looks at her for a while, choosing what to say and when she does, the topic changes. Her words are tinted with ‘as Chancellor’ instead of ‘as your mother’ and end in the same bleak outcome. 

“Rules are rules, Clarke.” Abby replies. “You and your friends will receive punishments in line with your crime.”

A crime that didn’t even exist until they set foot on the ground. 

Clarke takes the high ground. “If you’re set on punishing me then leave my friends out of it. I’m sure you could use the extra hands around here.” Self-sacrifice is easy when there’s no lives on the line. She doesn’t even need a second thought. 

“How sincere. Unfortunately I don’t think that’s possible.” Abby pushes off the table. “Seeing as how Raven had already made an attempt to leave her workstation to warn you that your contact was compromised.”

Despite her situation, Clarke smiles. 

“No, they’ll all receive sanctions along with you. To deter you from ever considering something like this again.”

Clarke wants to talk back. Wants to tell her that there’s no chance of being deterred because there’s no threat of being pushed out into space to scare her anymore. She’s walked into hell and come out alive.

“I’m sorry.” Clarke says and she makes it clear that it’s directed at Bellamy and Monty. 

Monty’s small smile tells her that he’s definitely had it worse while Bellamy just glares at Abby. 

She’s ready to go another round when her mom turns and steps outside the room. Clarke makes to follow her with Bellamy and Monty leading the way. As if protecting her from Abby. 

“I think it’s best for all of us if you think on this for a while.” Clarke can’t help but react to the way her mom’s voice becomes hollow but that sympathy disappears when she steps back and the airlock door to the room closes swiftly.

“Hey!” Clarke surges forward and lashes out at the door. The guards behind her mom stop Monty and Bellamy from releasing her and start leading them away. 

Abby is smart enough to know not to keep them all together so Clarke watches, pounding her fist against the glass door, as Monty and Bellamy are marched away somewhere else. 

The door keeps her loud cursing from disturbing those outside and that only pisses her off more. Here she is again. A new skybox home to dwell in and more rage than room to live. 

Her overreaction is justified in her mind. This was nothing compared to what they did at the drop ship. Wandering off meant death then, now the woods surrounding their camp are quiet. Only animals and skeletons lay between Camp Jaha and the drop ship, NavYard as Lexa called it, and they were back without a scratch. They were fine. They were free. 

Clarke kicks at the door again, startling the guard on the other side of it, only to stalk to the other side of the room when he turns away. If they’re not seen as children, they’re seen as criminals. 

Clarke can’t win either way. 

Sitting down only serves to emphasize her reality. There’s no way her mom is letting her out of here until she’s conforming to the rules, normalizing from what’s gotten her this far on Earth and leading her friends in the same way. Clarke can’t control them anymore than Abby can, but she’s guided them here and they’ll follow her. 

And Abby knows it. 

It’s what they’ve all been doing, even those that can’t look her in the eye now that they’ve seen what war and battle and Grounders have seen in her. She has no storms in her eyes but darker, warning clouds. The threat of thunder is what they seek to avoid. 

Locking her up is one way to do it. But they can’t keep her forever. 

She hopes.

*

Clarke’s lost track of exactly how long she’s been in the airlock. The dramatic thing to do would have been to scratch the days into the wall or something. But at this point she’s fairly sure her mom would have punished her for defacing Ark property on top of everything else. 

She gets three meals a day. They’d sent one guard on the first day but after she’d tried to attack him and escape they’d always sent two after that. One to restrain her and the other to carry the food. 

It makes her laugh in a bit of a sarcastic way that even in captivity she’s more than Abby can handle. 

But it’s miserable. All she has to do to entertain herself is think. Her requests for art supplies or books or anything to quell the silence are denied. Apparently they’re concerned she’s going to fashion herself a weapon out of paper and pencil.

Well, they’re probably not far off. 

Days pass by, maybe even weeks. Though the latter seems improbable. She tries to keep track by how many meals she’s eaten but those seem to run together.

People pass by the airlock and other than the guards giving her food it’s her only human contact. And even that’s a stretch. Her mom doesn’t come by and her friends don’t either. Though Clarke is certain that her friends staying away isn’t for lack of trying. 

She has to believe that there’s a way out of this that doesn’t involve compromising her beliefs. That there’s a way she gets out of this without conforming into the little innocent girl her mom doesn’t realize she could never be again. 

And so again she finds herself waiting and waiting. 

For something. 

Seven meals later it comes. 

There’s a rustling above her that Clarke doesn’t think too much of. It’s not exactly quiet but there’s been no alarm raised so it can’t be that much of a threat either. Perhaps all of their time on the ground has finally let a few spare rodents into their fortress. 

Though it sounds much heavier than that. 

And then it doesn’t sound like anything at all. It stops. The only thing she hears right above her is a gentle squeaking and perhaps that confirms her rodent theory. 

“Clarke.” The near silent but pointed whisper of her name does not. 

Perhaps she’s finally lost her mind? She didn’t during her time in solitary on the Ark the first time around but perhaps this is a different animal. It’s so close to solitary and yet she can see the outside. She can see people milling about and maybe being so close to contact has driven her to pretend it’s there. 

“I’m not hearing things.” She tries to reassure herself. “It’s not real.”

“Yes it is, you idiot.” The voice says just as quietly as before but the annoyance bleeds through no matter the volume. Clarke knows that annoyed voice, it’s been pointed in her direction more times in the last few months than she can count. 

“Octavia?” Clarke whispers speculatively. 

“Get ready.” Octavia whispers back and Clarke is about to ask for what when she looks up and sees the vent above her cage loosening from the ceiling. It starts to fall in a swift motion and Clarke quickly positions herself under it. 

Clarke catches the vent and sets it aside as Octavia begins to push her way through the vent and into the room. Her face is covered in that familiar paint and her easy smile and Clarke kind of whimpers with happiness. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

She subtly touches her just to confirm that this isn’t all some big trick. Octavia pushes her hand away with the determination of someone with a clear plan and not a lot of time to complete it. 

“Keep it in your pants, Chief.” Octavia finishes dropping through the vent with as little noise as possible. “I haven’t even saved you yet.”

Clarke’s eyes dart to the guard standing outside the room, he hasn’t turned to check on her. “Keep down.” 

Octavia ducks behind the overturned desk. “Tried to improvise?”

Clarke stands so that she’s still in sight. “I got a little impatient.”

“Sometimes you have to be a damsel in distress.” Octavia jokes.

“You say that to Bellamy?”

Octavia peeks over the desk. “Haven’t rescued him yet.”

“How did you get here-” Clarke tries to act normal so the guard doesn’t turn around. “How did you even know about any of this?”

“A little bird told me.” Octavia replies with a little bit of a smirk. At Clarke’s blank look she rolls her eyes. “Raven? A little bird--oh nevermind. She planned the whole thing.”

Clarke reminds herself to give Raven a huge hug--that will no doubt be pushed off--if they actually get through this escape plan unscathed. 

“So what’s the plan?” Clarke rocks on the balls of her feet waiting for something to happen. 

Octavia looks up at her. “Be patient.”

Clarke doesn’t have to wait long. The guard moves in front of the door when Miller makes his way to the door. Clarke steps back from the desk like standing too close will give the game away. Miller looks almost bored, holding the tray of food in his hands and nodding towards the door. The guard gives him a second look, before realizing who his father is no doubt, and gets his keycard out.

Octavia has a few seconds. “When they come in, we’ll take the guard. Keep the door open.”

Clarke looks back up as the door whooshes open.

The guard doesn’t even ask her to step back. Confident that Miller’s presence will deter her from trying anything. Naturally Miller rounds the table to give Clarke the food and on instinct, and to give Octavia a better position, she flips the tray out of his hand and tosses it at the feet of the guard.

“Nice to see you too, Clarke.” Miller says.

The guard looks at Miller like he can handle it, he looks down and reaches for the tray. His fingertips have the corner when Octavia leaps over the upturned desk and drives the butt of her knife into the back of the guard’s head. He collapses with a thud and Octavia kicks him just to make sure he’s unconscious. It’s a hard hit.

Clarke runs past them both and puts her body between the door and the wall to stop it from automatically closing. “Grab the keycard.”

Miller swipes it from the guard’s hand. “We have to move.”

“Where did you get the food from?” Clarke wonders as Octavia puts her knife away and pulls her by the elbow and out of the room. 

“I borrowed it.” Miller replies.

Octavia hushes them both and slows them down as they make their way down the hall. She turns to Miller. “Is Bellamy?”

“Should be.” Miller affirms. “He’s with Wick heading towards Raven’s workstation.”

Octavia turns to Clarke. “That’s our way out. How long until someone notices the fences are turned off?”

Miller shrugs. “Not long. We need to go.”

They try to keep quiet as they jog through the station but Octavia does end up bashing a few more people in the head to keep their cover safe. Clarke has never been so relieved to see Raven’s door closed when they arrive. Miller’s keycard won’t open it and when the rejected light on the side flashes, Wick opens the door. 

“Did you take a detour?” He jokes. “Seriously, get in.”

They make it safely inside and Clarke breathes easier at the sight of Raven, Jasper, Monty and Bellamy. All waiting for her. 

Raven tosses her a backpack and it’s heavy. “Your share.”

Her share is rations and some radios that have been stuffed between blankets and ammo. Clarke swings it over her shoulder and Bellamy hands her a gun. “Good to have you back.”

“Yeah, we’re all happy to see Clarke.” Octavia pushes through the pack. “Now lets bust out of here.”

Octavia’s enthusiasm is cut short when the radio in Raven’s hand comes to life. “--sweep the corridors--“

“Let’s ditch the welcoming party.” Clarke follows Octavia to the back of Raven’s room and to the recently welded hole in the wall that Wick looks especially proud to present to them. 

As Clarke passes through and her feet hit the grass outside, she realizes that she’ll probably never be able to come back here. 

Not willingly. 

The thought has her pulling the straps on her bag tighter and keeping low as Octavia and Wick bring them to the unguarded fence and lead them under it. Clarke comes out with dirt on her front and under her nails once again. Everyone helps Raven but she slaps all their hands away until Wick helps her up from the ground. Miller is last, picking up the slack and the lingering looks from Jasper and Monty who have gone from false sense of comfort in the Mountain to more of the same in the Ark. 

The radio gives them more warning and they’re heading for the forest quickly. 

Clarke doesn’t look back.

*

They make it a few miles before a general feeling of ‘what the fuck happens now’ settles over the group. The adrenaline of their great escape still pumps through their veins so none of them voice the sentiment. But Clarke can see in the way eyes dart around the woods, at each other, it’s settling in. 

Clarke’s just happy to walk. She still hasn’t looked back, not once. It’s as if looking back would be like a magnet inevitably pulling her back to the Ark. 

To what? To more punishment? 

No. What’s done is done. Some things can’t be forgiven immediately and Clarke doesn’t even know if time can heal the wounds they’ve so effortlessly sliced open. 

So she walks with a purpose. She walks like she knows where she’s going because when the eyes of her friends dart around they always, undoubtedly, land back on Clarke. Whether consciously or not they’re looking to her for guidance. 

And she only knows one place to go. 

The sun crests just over the horizon as they march upon the drop ship. It’s the same as they’ve always left it. The same as it was when they came back for Monty’s still. Same as they were taken from it by Mount Weather. 

NavYard, Clarke remembers, that’s what Lexa called this area. She glances over to Octavia on her right and wonders if she knows the Grounder name for the land as well. She must.

Almost by mutual decision they fall back together as the boys and Raven head through the broken gates and towards the ship. 

“This is the only place I could think to go.” Clarke says soft enough that only Octavia could feasibly hear her. “The only other unoccupied place I know is below ground. I couldn’t do that to us.”

The Bunker. Finn’s bunker. 

Octavia nods like knows the meaning underneath Clarke’s words. 

“We have limited choices for hiding spots.” Octavia agrees. “But we don’t need to hide. You were right, Clarke. We were here before the Ark. This is our home.”

Octavia moves forward towards the ship. Clarke follows. 

“Home.” Clarke repeats. Her boots still scuff the ash of hundreds and there are bones in her path. “This was home.”

“And it could be again.” Clarke looks back at Octavia, who smiles at her. “All it needs is some clearing.”

Clarke stops and looks around. Some clearing is the understatement of a lifetime. She remembers how green and lush and gorgeous their crash landing site was. It would probably never be like that again. She remembered enough from earth skills to know about plant life cycles and the effects of burning. 

But maybe, just maybe, they could settle. Clarke crosses her arms over her chest and continues to scan her eyes around the area. “This will be the first place they look for us.”

“You give them too much credit to think they’ll look at all.” Octavia quips. “We’re just lost resources to them. And they certainly won’t waste more tracking down a few kids who don’t contribute anyway.” Octavia pauses and squeezes Clarke on the shoulder. “Even if one of them is the Chancellor’s kid.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Clarke’s voice sounds hollow even to her. She knows her mother. She knows the tenacity in which she approaches everything she does. Clarke has half a mind to think there’s a squad of guards on their trail right now. 

Maybe she should have looked back. What was she thinking? 

“We’ll build the walls back up.” Octavia cuts into Clarke’s cycle of doubt. “I’ll go to Tondc and bring back Lincoln and ask Indra for warriors to help us fortify our defenses.”

“What makes you so sure they’ll help us?” Clarke asks. Octavia rolls her eyes in response. 

“They’ll help.” Octavia looks so sure that it starts to fill Clarke with the same confidence. Confidence that this could work somehow. They’ll clear the remnants of destruction, they’ll build back up their walls and perhaps even start a few permanent structures. 

Maybe something like a home. 

The word feels foreign even rolling around in her head. Home. She hasn’t had a home since her father stepped into that airlock. Not since she was thrown into a cell for daring to know his secrets. 

Home. 

Clarke smiles. It’s so small she barely even feels it and suddenly it feels like it’s been forever since her face has done this. The muscles nearly ache from disuse. 

Octavia interrupts her moment. “I’ll leave now.” 

There’s no question hanging in the balance just marching orders. It’s clear. Octavia goes to Tondc and comes back with reinforcements. Clarke clears the remains of the fallen warriors so that said reinforcements will actually help. And then?

And then they start to build a new home.

*

The realities of rebuilding the area surrounding the drop ship are harsh. The weather’s not like Clarke remembered it when they landed. It feels like it gets colder every single night and they’ve still yet to figure out how to patch the holes in the ship or found enough materials to even fathom erecting permanent buildings. 

They sleep in tents at night and take turns on who gets to sleep in the one enclosed, clean area of the ship. Clarke envys Raven and Wick or even Monty and Jasper who huddle together at night to keep from freezing. Bellamy digs up an extra blanket from his pack and gives it to Clarke. She doesn’t ask him or Miller to huddle inside of her tent. She knows the way Bellamy looks at her and she barely even knows Miller. 

Octavia still hasn’t returned and every day that passes is another day that Clarke kicks herself for not insisting she take a radio or check in at regular intervals. 

During the days they work. 

Monty comes up with the idea to scoop the ashes and bones of the dead up into unused parachutes and put it to the side. Clarke thinks back to the funeral pyre in Tondc and wonders if it would be appropriate to do the same with these remains. 

It takes five whole days to finish clearing what remained of the warriors and at the end of the fifth day Octavia rides back to the ship with Lincoln and a few warriors alongside her. 

The warriors are not empty handed. In their arms they carry building materials and basic survival necessities. Octavia gives Clarke a strange look as the warriors set the offerings at her feet.

The supplies prove invaluable and the extra sets of hands don’t hurt either. But that doesn’t stop Jasper or Miller or even Monty from eyeing the Grounder warriors warily. Sometimes Clarke forgets how much they missed trapped inside Mount Weather. So much had changed and yet for them their most poignant memory of the Grounders is still the 300 storming the ship. 

Not Finn and his massacre on Tondc. Not Clarke sliding the knife into his heart as the Grounders chanted hungrily for his blood. And certainly not Lexa and Clarke and their peace. 

She settled for giving them sharp looks and kept them working. Even with the supplies it was nothing close to a permanent fix but it was enough to make do until Raven and Wick figured out a permanent solution.

At the very least their walls are sound. Sturdy enough that guards from the Ark would have considerable trouble breaching their defenses. Not that they’d actually seen any guards and Clarke can’t decide whether to be relieved or offended that Octavia was right. 

They’re just lost resources and the scales aren’t in favor of getting them back. They’re truly on their own now. 

That thought makes Clarke scrub even harder at the floors of the ship. She’s not even sure whose blood it is she’s trying to mop up. It could be Raven’s or Murphy’s or Jasper and the list goes on and on. If they can’t repair the holes for now they can at least live in a sterile environment. 

It’s all Raven has been talking about as she and Wick try to figure out a solution to their hull problems. Something about not being able to concentrate if all she can think about is bleeding out alone. And something about needing the place tidy in case they needed to find anything in an emergency. 

Clarke doesn’t admit it to Raven’s face but she has a point. And maybe when she’s got the blood off of the surfaces she can somehow start rebuilding the medical bay. Eventually one of them is going to need medical help. Clarke is honestly surprised they haven’t yet. 

She scrubs and plans and it lulls her mind into a comfortable loop. 

“Clarke.” Octavia’s voice startles her and she trains her muscles not to jump in response. Instead she wipes the sweat off of her forehead. 

“Octavia.” 

“I have a message for you.” Octavia kneels next to her, careful to not to disturb where she’s cleaning. “It’s from the Commander.”

Clarke slowly and deliberately sets down her cleaning supplies. “Go on.” She tries not to sound too eager but judging by the way Octavia looks at her she’s tipped her cards. 

“The Commander requests your official presence in Polis.” Octavia clips out the words precisely like she’s been trained over and over in how to say them correctly. 

“Requests or demands?”

Octavia raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think there’s a difference between the two.”

Clarke mulls over the message with a strange flutter that courses through her body. It feels a little like excitement. A voice inside her head warns her that it’s more than that. That it’s dangerous to feel a flutter like that at the thought of Lexa demanding her presence. 

“Indra gave me the message.” Octavia continues. 

Clarke figured as much. She figured with their history that Lexa wasn’t suddenly summoning Octavia to deliver important messages. “Did she tell you why she wants me in Polis?”

“The Commander doesn’t have to explain herself.” Octavia shrugs her shoulders. “I asked and that’s what Indra had to say.”

It’s not as though Clarke doesn’t have a choice. Just because Lexa requests her presence or even demands it doesn’t mean that she actually has to go. Lexa may be the Commander but she doesn’t have official power over her. But just because she has a choice doesn’t mean she’s going to say no. 

“Okay.” The word flows easily from her mouth. “We’ll go to Polis then.”

“We?” For as much as Octavia’s come into her own on the ground, Clarke can still see the part of her that bounced from cage to cage. The part of her that’s still so shocked to finally belong. 

“Of course. Who else would I take?” Clarke reassures Octavia.

“Bellamy.” Octavia answers quickly. “Everyone knows he’s your right hand man.”

“I trust him, yes, and that’s why I need him to stay here and guard our new home while we’re gone.” Clarke doesn’t explain the rest of the complications. She has a sense that not-so-deep down Octavia already knows. “But Octavia?”

“Yeah.” Octavia responds. For once not the headstrong warrior. 

“Bellamy may be my right hand man but you’re my second.” Clarke maintains eye contact to make sure that Octavia knows this isn’t just blowing smoke. She means every word she says. “I need you.”

Octavia nods and stands up quickly. Clarke exhales a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. “We’ll leave tomorrow at sunrise.”

Octavia acknowledges her with an uncomfortable smile and hurries back outside to no doubt work off an overflowing of emotions. Clarke understands Octavia’s discomfort more than she’d like to recognize. To care, to trust freely after everything she’s been through on the ground is more task than comfort. But Clarke finds it’s a task she’ll force on herself again and again because if she stops feeling she can’t lead. 

And if she can’t lead then she’s taken her friends away from assured, if not boring, safety. And for what?

Clarke scrubs the floor harder and starts mentally making a list of things she needs to put into order before the sun rises. It occurs to her that she doesn’t even know how far Polis is from the ship. 

She’s about to find out. 

*

Monty is on watch in the morning when they reach the camp gates. They’ve managed to strengthen the walls that still stood around the drop ship. Slowly but surely the place is beginning to look like it did before the Grounders attacked. 

Clarke gives Monty a hug while Lincoln’s saddles the horses they’re going to take. Octavia takes her turn with him before walking to Lincoln.

“I don’t know how long we’ll be.” Clarke admits. “If people come looking for us-”

“We won’t go without a fight.” Monty assures her. They both know that if the Ark hasn’t come looking for them now, there’s little driving them to bring them back. 

“I’m taking a radio with me. If anything happens.” Clarke says. “Warn us and we’ll come straight back.”

“And the Grounders?” Monty asks with a whisper.

“They’re our allies.” Clarke tells him. He hasn’t seen the strength of that truce yet. “They will listen to you, protect you if they need.”

Octavia has already assured her that they’re here on Indra’s orders. They’re loyal to their little camp.

“Have a safe trip.” Monty smiles. 

Clarke feels freer to grin back before she gets on her horse. “We’ll see you soon.”

Lincoln takes the lead, his horse setting a steady pace for Polis. They have a good few days ride ahead of them through the forest and even with the peace that’s fallen over the land, there are still dangers that have them checking for the weapon’s on their hips. 

They come across a stream a few hours into their ride and Octavia stops them all to refill their flasks to boil clean later that night. Clarke watches with fondness at how relaxed Lincoln is just to look at Octavia. Their closeness is something that can’t be described in words. Clarke remembers how they were drawn together and the lengths they went to in the beginning, and now- Octavia is talking about her time in Tondc and how Lincoln’s friends have welcomed her into their home. 

Clarke envies that feeling of belonging. She thought she had it on the Ark when all she knew was space and darkness but everything feels distant now and anything promising comfort ends up making her feel sick. The rocking trot of her horse and hard bed rolls on forest floors are her new feather soft daydreams. 

The first night passes with little event; boiling water and feasting on the rations and the rabbits that Lincoln tracks down for them. Clarke stares up at the stars, listening to the crackling of the fire and trying to ignore the content sigh Octavia gives out as she’s held by Lincoln. 

The smell of rain wakes her up and has her shivering under her leather jacket for the second day. The trees offer them small protection on their ride but they soon reach the edge of the forest and Lincoln breaks the horses into a gallop across an open field. 

Clarke holds on tight and follows. Her horse revels in the speed and Clarke’s adrenaline shoots up with excitement. Open space and Octavia’s loud laughter. 

Letting Octavia lead them, Lincoln rides beside her to tell her more of Polis. 

“It’s different.” He watches her sometimes, to read her reactions. “Our armies are used to travelling and living off the land. But we all have villages. During war the Commander rides with her people, sleeps amongst them and moves from village to village. There has not been a period of time in recent memory that she has stayed in Polis for long.”

He confides that the Mountain Men had been growing more and more restless before the 100 were sent to the ground. Making more Reapers and becoming more active in their hunting of them. Reaching for the ground the only way they could. 

“What’s it like?”

Lincoln has told her a lot about the glory days of Tondc and the warriors that emerged from his village. The same flicker of pride crosses his face when he talks of the capitol. “It is our stronghold. There are stone buildings, statues carved by our most skilled artists, a long line of Commanders train in the city of Polis before they are called-”

Clarke asks and asks. About the people, about the buildings, comparing their descriptions to those pictures she once had on the Ark. About the training warriors receive, education, art, spirituality-

Lincoln answers her the best he can with a smile. “Everything comes back to the Earth in the end. All clans in the coalition worship the same gods, pray for the same peace and good fortune, follow the same laws- with some exceptions.” He adds on the end. 

Clarke watches Octavia take off ahead again. “We’re not so different after all.”

Lincoln follows her gaze. “No. We’re not.”

Day three passes quicker as they pass over more difficult ground. They pay more attention to guiding their horses down a valley without injury than small talk and Clarke is grateful when she’s finally able to sleep when the night comes. She finds herself being spooned by Octavia in the morning and Lincoln looks at them both with amusement, his sketchpad on the floor, as his watch comes to an end.

Octavia gets up abruptly afterwards and washes her face in a stream that they passed before setting up camp. Clarke finds herself laughing about it until Octavia jokes about Clarke not having the decency to ask her out first. It’s that amusement that brings the light to their day. 

Clarke counts trees and finds them thinning and Lincoln sits straighter on his horse. “We’ll be there before dark.”

Lincoln changes his clothes mid-afternoon to something closer to what Clarke remembers him wearing when they first met. Octavia hands her a bundle that Clarke unrolls to find the coat she wore during the battle at Mount Weather. 

“It’s a little cleaner than you remember it.” Octavia smiles. Clarke can’t say anything to show her gratitude and instead dons the coat, fixing her shoulder pad back over and strapping it over her chest.

“Thank you.”

“Any time, Chief.” 

By nightfall Clarke can see the pointed tips of structures reflecting the light of the moon. Fires calling out to them as they ride further. The busy sounds of rushing people. A city of life. 

Flames light up the scene and Lincoln dismounts his horse as a scout runs out to them. They speak in quick, quiet sentences that Clarke is happy to understand most of, before he hands off his horse to the boy. 

“We can walk from here.” He says. 

Clarke slides off her horse, waiting until the scout takes the reigns before trusting her legs to carry her. 

Dirt gives way to cobbled stone and Clarke’s eyes look all around her as they walk towards the large walls of the city. More scouts come to meet them, Grounders with familiar paint and clothing that ask them to hand over their weapons and who stare at her hair and her clothes with respect. 

Clarke’s nerves set in as they step towards the gate. A small creaking echoes, louder and louder, until Clarke can distinguish the turning cogs that help the door to be pulled open. Many men and women man the entrance and open it for them. Clarke’s eyes get wider and wider at all they reveal. 

Behind the gate is open space, a courtyard leading to another courtyard. Tents and fires are set up and Grounders of all ages and experience run around carrying torches and food. Clarke follows the cobbled path inside and like a moth to the flame she walks to the center and to the figure surrounded by fire.

She’s more than Clarke remembers. A few months feel like an age since Clarke has seen the strength in her form. Sword back at her side and the grace that comes with being surrounded by her people evident. Her hair is longer. 

Lexa turns and she looks dressed for war while welcoming peace. “Welcome to Polis, Clarke.” 

*

The morning brings her light drizzling rain, smoke from burnt out campfires, the smell of them seeping into her skin like a warm embrace, and Lexa.

It’s been a long few months since Clarke last saw her. When the most vivid thing in her life was Lexa’s war weary face and the scars she stitched on her back. 

The night had only revealed a glimpse of that before Lexa led them to their beds for the night, urging them to rest after their journey. Clarke hadn’t realized how tired she was until she was struggling to keep her eyes open. There was no question that they were safe now and she surrendered to sleep surrounded by the sounds of the capitol. 

She could have slept longer but the day would have gone on without her. Leaving her behind. Clarke made the effort to get up and search out water to wash and dress before finding Lexa. Their furious riding through the night and day had her longing for something cool. Though Clarke can’t see her own face, she knows that she feels better than she did yesterday. 

Stepping outside she sees Lexa now, refreshed and alive.

Her face is darker but naked from the ash that so often covers her face. Clarke is one of the first of her people to venture out into the camp. Octavia and Lincoln retired before her and will no doubt not rise again until past noon. 

“The morning meal has not yet been prepared.” Lexa’s voice drifts across camp. Polis is far bigger than Tondc. Lexa did not lead them to the center of the city, to the buildings and bustling life, in the dark and in the light of day everything seems even more immense. “You are up early.”

“I could say the same for you.” Clarke comes to her side and receives a smile fitting the young and untouched day. Lexa has changed since the end of the battle against Mount Weather. Not all changes are visible, but Clarke will take the more frequent demonstrations of Lexa’s emotions as they come. 

Lexa’s stare returns to the dying fire. Someone will start it again soon. “There are a many things on my mind. I had hoped to dispel most of them before your arrival-” The planned arrival. “-I did not anticipate the events leading to your imprisonment.”

“Yeah, well.” Clarke’s voice becomes bitter thinking about her escape from the Ark. “Neither did I.”

It brings her back to why she’s here in the first place. “I want to thank you. For what you’re doing.”

Lexa turns to her.

Clarke continues. “Protecting the drop ship, sending men- it means a lot to me, to all of us.” It gives her back some hope that had been slipping away in their time apart and through the turmoil on the Ark. Hope that all of the talk of an alliance wasn’t just words. They’ve come a long way since nearly breaking any burgeoning trust over poisoned cups. 

“I am not protecting the drop ship.” Lexa states. She looks at Clarke with seriousness befitting the conversation. “I’m protecting our truce.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My people are your people.” Lexa twists her words. ‘My’ and ‘your’ become exclusionary. “My alliance is with you, the people in your camp, and not with the Ark or their leader. I have seen their hearts, Clarke. Their desire for peace is outweighed by a great many things.”

Clarke sees something new. Lexa drawing battle lines once more as she reassures Clarke of their bond. “All they want to do is survive. My mom, the council- this world is still new to them. They don’t understand the ways and the threats here like we do.”

“Which is why they wished to spare the Mountain and not see it crumble.” Lexa’s lips purse together. 

“Mercy is something new they’re trying out.” Clarke mutters about her mother and the hypocrisy of mercy against their enemies but not for their own people. “We made the right choice.”

“For now.” Lexa replies. 

Lexa’s hidden threat only makes her laugh, shortly and quietly, attracting Lexa’s attention. Clarke tells her that she’s missed their disagreements because it’s easier to say and Lexa accepts it without her jaw clenching. 

Clarke gives her a half smile that comes off as more affectionate than she means to let slip. “How’s your back?”

Lexa straightens her shoulders. “It causes me no pain.” Lexa does allow Clarke to see her smile. “You are a fine healer.”

Clarke enjoys the pride that comes with the compliment. “Thank you.”

Clarke watches the last of the embers of the fire die. Lexa stoops down to drag her fingers through the powdery ash on the floor. “What were you thinking about?”

Lexa looks up.

“Before I came out. You said there were things you’d hoped to dispel.”

Lexa quiets and rubs the ash in her fingers. Blackening her skin. “My coalition rides to Polis as we speak.”

Lincoln stumbles from his tent in a thin shirt and torn pants. When he sees Lexa, he bows his head before leaving.

Lexa’s eyes follow him. “A conversation for another time.” She looks at Clarke. “I will take you into the city today.”

Lexa’s eyes are filled with the same promise she’d shown when she had first spoken of Polis. She promised that her city would change everything. Not even a full day into her stay, and certainly having not seen all the city has to offer, Clarke thinks Lexa is already following through on that promise. 

That’s all that Lexa seems to have for her until they’re ready to move, choosing to give Clarke a small smile before retreating to her tent. Clarke stands by the fire as it’s restarted by some of Lexa’s guards and lets the warmth wash over her. 

Polis awaits. 

*

Clarke has never seen something that she could associate with the word paradise. The Ark gave her books and art and pictures of the past. Where buildings touched the sky and the sun reflected against glass in multicolored halos. 

The ground has given her nature. Brought her down to the muddy roots and the curling vines of the Earth. Clarke can smell the ground after rain and she relishes the way her lungs burn when she treks in the forest. Looking up at the sky doesn’t make her homesick, the stars are still there. 

She thinks that this is as close as she’ll get to awe, to that aura of amazement, walking into Polis with the rest of Lexa’s party. 

With it’s white bricks and cobbled streets. Trees line roads with faded painted lines running down them. Buildings with crumbled bricks patched up with metal sheets. Other buildings with flawless walls and doors. An open courtyard reveals a soot covered Grounder twisting glass over a raging fire. Further down mothers chase children and warriors march past on their way. 

Everyone bows. Everyone acknowledges them. 

‘Heda’ becomes a constant murmur and Clarke can feel the eyes of all of them on her. This is Lexa’s reality. The adoration of her people. Those that she walks amongst and the countless others whose lives have been saved within the last few weeks. 

And they call for Clarke too. Her name becomes a song that people join in and her head is turning everywhere to see where the voices call from.

It’s unnerving and distracting her from their path. Octavia sticks close to her as Clarke lets her eyes wander. Trying in vain to see everything there is to see. The buildings, the delicate brick work, brown leaves crunching on the floor beneath their feet. Sounds of laughing, praise and cries of joy. 

Clarke feels a pressure on her chest and stinging tears in the back of her eyes because coming here means more than just visiting. It means that a new chapter of her life is opening, just as one is closing. She walks with the beginning of a new era. Sky and Ground. 

Clarke discreetly wipes her eyes and swallows the lump in her throat. 

The pitter patter of feet echo suddenly. Children begin to run alongside them and despite the insistence of mother’s worried about the horses, they weave their way into their crowd. 

A little girl walks up right beside Lexa and reaches out her hand. Nothing deters her; not the sword or the armor or Lexa’s dark eyes. 

There’s a moment when Clarke thinks Lexa won’t respond. It’s what she expects. But the girl is as tall as Lexa’s waist and her hand won’t be denied. Lexa laces their fingers together and a child’s delight spreads to that of her friends. Clarke watches as Octavia is coerced into lifting a young girl onto her hip as they walk. 

She feels a tug on the hem of her jacket and Clarke stares down at a little boy with messy ash running over his face. There’s a stick tied to his waist, a toy sword to the imaginative mind, and a flower in his hand. 

Looking at him reminds her of the children in the Mountain. The innocents on both sides. 

Clarke squeezes the fingers of the little boy and accepts the flowers from him. “Mochof.”

Octavia scoots the boy away good naturedly, and the girl she holds struggles to join him. They run past Lexa, shouting ‘Heda’ until they convince Lexa to let their friend go. The pack stalls for a second as Lexa bends down to fix something in the girl’s hair. Clarke can’t hear them but whatever Lexa says has brought a smile to the little girl’s face that she wears and runs away with. 

The children have led them away from the center of the capitol and to quieter tracks. Roads overflowing with flowers and plant life and soldiers walking atop large stone walls. 

Clarke looks across when they make it past the barriers and over the short break of grass to where they have been led. Lexa doesn’t need to say it. 

Men come and take their horses and packs. Women with braids and red scarves take their hands and Clarke watches Lexa hand over her sword. The weight on her shoulders looks lifted. 

Lexa has brought them home. 

To a door, of all things, and a house with a solid roof and clean floors. To a household that welcomes them all from guards to what Clarke can only think of as staff. 

It’s all too much. 

It’s inside that war is traded for peace. Lexa’s armor is taken, their weapons are collected and when everything has been said and done, Clarke is left staring at a panel of glass mounted on a pedestal and resting against the wall.

The windows give the room light and air and space for Clarke to maneuver. Everything becomes contrasted to the dark walls. 

She’s drawn to it. Unbroken and flawless. Stained with colors that form shapes and bring out her emotions in a way that the art she was surrounded by in the Mountain never did. 

(That should have been her first clue that something was wrong).

By the time she looks around only Octavia and one of Lexa’s staff remain. “Where is everyone?”

Octavia gives her a smirk. “Left while you had your head in the clouds.” She pauses. “Clarke of the Sky People.”

Her playful teasing sparks further comments and they’re led down the hall. Their voices are the only sounds echoing along. 

*

It seems there’s no end to the people within Lexa’s house and once settled she and Octavia are shown into a warm room, handed towels and been left to stare in disbelief at the deep roman bath like scene. There’s only a step or two of tiling before the room dips into a hot pool of water. 

Clarke’s response is a lot less blunt than Octavia’s. (A quick “Holy shit.” before she started taking off her clothes and calling for Clarke to do the same). Being submerged in water that runs hot is a different and pleasant experience and she will yearn for it when they are returned to the cooler lakes and rivers in the forest. Clarke spends the majority of her time in the bath hugging the wall and sighing at the heat while Octavia restlessly swims circles. 

Clarke puts off leaving until the woman who led them there returns with towels and clothes. Clarke smiles at her politely before making her way out. 

It’s neither the right time nor is it really appropriate but she can’t help but frown over the flurry of marks on Octavia’s body. There’s a scar, healed over, that leads from her hip to her knee and Clarke’s sighing reaction draws Octavia’s attention. At first she doesn’t react, but when she sees Clarke’s frown deepening she ties the towel around her body and offers her an amusing distraction. “You should see the other guy.”

Clarke smiles back. “We should find the others.” Clarke takes the clothes offered to them and gets dressed. 

Octavia stubbornly follows her lead only because she knows what’s expected of her, as one of Lexa’s warriors, and as a guest in her home. But she still whistles when Clarke gets her pants on because some things don’t change. 

They always have a guide so it’s impossible to get lost but even so Clarke can’t tell the difference between one hall to the next. Octavia finds Lincoln when they turn a corner, looking cleaner and happier than Clarke has ever seen him, dressed down in a shirt and pants not suited for battle. 

They manage to gather a sense of what’s to come from him. 

It doesn’t surprise Clarke that the dining room they enter is full of people. She doesn’t recognize anyone but they all wear similar tokens; red scarves, painted eyes. There are no weapons and it makes Clarke remember their first failed attempt at sitting to eat with Lexa and her people. Naturally, because it’s Lexa, there are candles everywhere. 

Clarke doesn’t notice Lexa at first. She’s lost in the sea of war paint and dark battered jackets that have seen more winters than Clarke has counted stars. When she does see her, Clarke can’t take her eyes away.

She’s dressed differently, trading the weathered floor length coat she’s so used to for dressier leathers. A cloak like jacket fastens across her chest with intricate ties. On their approach, Lexa stands and the rest of her is revealed to be decked out in black riding pants with no marks on them. New. 

“Clarke of the Sky People.” Lexa greets her formally for the sake of her generals and someone pulls out the chair opposite to her for Clarke. 

“Commander.” Clarke stands until Lexa nods and the rest of the table takes a seat. She hadn’t even noticed they were all waiting for her. 

Octavia touches her shoulder before disappearing with Lincoln to their seats. Clarke pulls her seat in closer to the table and Lexa waves her hand and the feast begins.

The food is hearty. Half of the conversation surrounding her comes from men claiming to have killed whatever is placed on the table. 

Lexa nods politely in their direction from time to time but Clarke can feel the brunt of her attention. Their eyes meet every once in a while and Clarke forces herself to hold Lexa’s gaze before she looks back down at her food. 

The meal feels much longer for it all. 

When they finish Lexa stands first and Clarke figures out pretty quickly that everyone is waiting for her to follow suit. Once she does the rest of the people in the dining room stand as well and Lexa disappears into the crowd. 

Clarke watches her go, her stomach feeling tight and off. The feeling doesn’t shake before Octavia comes up behind her with Lincoln.

“Hey, they have rooms for us.” Octavia looks thrilled and Clarke is momentarily confused until; “with actual beds.”

Lincoln can only smile in a way that knows Clarke can see right through the reason for Octavia’s enthusiasm. 

“You seem troubled.” Lincoln tells her as Octavia leads their way out of the hall. Clarke feels comforted by his presence as they walk by Lexa’s generals. 

Clarke waits until they’re away from potential listeners and wandering through the halls again to speak freely. 

“What is all of this?”

“A celebration.” Lincoln’s response is clear. At Clarke’s scrunched nose he elaborates. “The war against the Mountain is over. For the first time in over a hundred years there is a chance for peace in our lands.” He glances down at her. “You and your people are to be thanked for this.”

Clarke doesn’t let Octavia disappear out of her sight. 

Lincoln continues. “The Commander has been preparing for your arrival since before Octavia came with the knowledge of your imprisonment.”

She freezes because the mention of it has her clawing at the walls in her head again. 

“The Commander did not take the news well.” Lincoln stops them abruptly, letting Octavia wander in favor of catching Clarke’s attention. “Whatever the reason was; it was unwise for your people to make such an aggressive move so soon after victory. Especially against their leader.”

“What my people did with me-” Clarke says distastefully. “-why would it concern Lexa? Under our laws, somewhere, I could be guilty of war crimes. Your people would do the same.”

“There is a difference.” Lincoln presses. “But I might not be the right person to explain it to you.”

Clarke nods and they start walking again. “And would the right person be-”

“Residing in the east wing of the house.” Lincoln smiles. “An invitation will be extended to you tonight. After Lexa’s generals have finished their discussions.”

Clarke scoffs. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt that riveting conversation.”

Lincoln leads her to a room with two beds covered by heavy woolen blankets. Plush looking pillows that she hasn’t had the luxury of feeling since her time on the Ark. The walls show original brickwork and a fireplace that is already making her sigh in delight. A small, thin window draws up from behind a sparse bookshelf. 

There are fresh flowers on her bed. 

If she didn’t know already, Octavia tells her not to feel so lonely without her before grabbing Lincoln and leading them out. Clarke laughs because she hasn’t seen her friend so energized, without the weight of the world on her shoulders, and she deserves this. 

Clarke sits down on the bed and takes the flowers in her hands. The petals feel like velvet and are sweet to smell. She takes the moment to appreciate something that has been in front of her since she came down on the drop ship, but never had the chance to. Beauty.

The beauty of the world pours into her and she itches for something to draw with. The flowers bring back memories of her first foray into the forest with Octavia, Jasper, Monty...Finn. 

Clarke places the flowers on the cool windowsill. It’s just starting to darken outside and the flicker of little fires spring up in the distance. People are starting to retire to their homes and to their beds. 

She has something left to do. 

Torches have been lit in the halls and a fire roars behind the stained glass work in the hall as she walks. Clarke lingers for a moment to watch the flickering light play with the beautiful colors before she moves on. The only clue that she’s getting closer to Lexa’s room is the increased presence of people. Guards patrol and nod their head at her when she passes. Some of the women who Clarke recognizes from the meal smile and point her in the right direction. 

Eventually she reaches a black door with a lone guard standing post. Lexa must expect her presence because he lets her through without asking. Clarke enters. 

Lexa is pouring water into a cup. Her eyes browsing over a scroll with faint interest that only stops when she spots Clarke closing the door behind her. Clarke almost misses the quiet whisper of her name over the silence. 

The laces of her bodice are loose and Clarke can see the black shirt beneath it. Her hair is freed from some of the braids she wears and it frames her face against the soft candlelight in the room. Clarke pulls at the sleeve of her own shirt, rubbing the cotton between her fingers comfortingly. 

Whatever she needs to do to stifle the desire to just smile, unabashed, at Lexa and not have to explain it. (Because there aren’t words for the way Clarke knows the ripples of Lexa’s spine or the feelings she associates with it).

But she tamps down the feeling because she knows more than anyone that this is neither the time nor the place. Lexa called her here officially and she didn’t do it so Clarke could yearn to touch her. 

Even as much as Clarke hopes Lexa is feeling the same pangs. (She pushes that feeling down as well.)

“Why am I really here?” Clarke asks bluntly. If there’s anything she’s learned in all of the death and destruction it’s that there’s little time for pretense on the ground. “Lincoln said dinner was a celebration of some kind.”

“Lincoln was right.” Lexa says looking up from her cup. But the look on her face makes it clear she would have rather broken that news. “Did he tell you why we are celebrating?”

Clarke moves forward into the room and Lexa instinctively pours her a cup of water. She hands it to Clarke and Clarke gently rolls the cup between her hands before taking a sip. 

“The war against the mountain is over.” Lexa continues in Clarke’s silence. Lexa looks away for a moment but when she looks back her eyes are burning with a fire that Clarke hasn’t seen since battle. To be honest she’d missed it in the months since she’d seen Lexa. That passion, that presence. “When I heard what your people had done to you.” Lexa pauses and something flashes in her eyes and as quickly as it’s there it’s gone again. “It did not please me.”

Clarke nods. Of course she could go into the complicated situation that brought them to those moments but she has the sense that Lexa doesn’t care about all that. But still she doesn’t sit down because sitting would imply some sort of comfort that she doesn’t actually feel. 

Clarke looks Lexa straight in the eyes. “I didn’t ride all this way for a meal.”

If Lexa is bothered by the small talk, if you could even call it that, ending she doesn’t show it. “No, you didn’t.” 

“Then why?”

“The truce I have with your people.” Lexa states bluntly. 

Clarke takes a drink from her water if for nothing than to stall time. Lexa waits patiently. “What about it?” 

Maybe she’s missed something or perhaps there’s some nuance in Lexa’s English that she hasn’t picked up on because the clench in Lexa’s jaw betrays some sort of annoyance. “Our truce with your people.” The way she emphasizes the ‘your’ makes Clarke stand up straighter. “The Sky people. Not the Ark people.” 

Lexa looks Clarke straight in the eyes with all of the conviction of the Commander. This isn’t just Lexa speaking. This is the leader of the Grounders. The head of the twelve clans. “This is why I brought you here.”

“To tell me what I already know.” 

“The coalition of our clans was made three years after I became Commander. At the time there was no alliance between us. Trigedakru fought Sanskavakru who slaughtered Azgeda- the cycle ran on the blood that we spilled and the Mountain was allowed to stand on the backs of our violence.”

“We all shared a common enemy who delighted in how easily we turned against one another and did their killing for them. It was my intention to end the fighting between our people.” Lexa describes the history behind it and it’s not the first time that Clarke has been forced to realize just how much they don’t understand about the Earth, it’s people and the time before they arrived.

The drop ship landing started the legend of the Sky People, but life existed before that.

“Many of my people died on all sides trying to fight for peace.” Lexa’s eyes are empty and staring aimlessly away from Clarke. “Some losses were bigger than others.”

“Victory stands on the back of sacrifice.” Clarke murmurs the words as Lexa once did for her. It eases the sudden stiffness in Lexa’s posture again.

“We all sacrificed for a chance at victory.” Lexa goes on. Borders were altered and warriors that were once enemies became brothers and sisters fighting alongside each other. 

Clarke can’t hide her curiosity. “How old were you when you became the Commander?”

“Fourteen years had passed when my spirit took the mantle. But I passed the test seeing less than five.” Lexa says. “Anya became my mentor soon after and we were together when I succeeded in uniting our people.”

Clarke’s stomach twists at the mention of Anya. She buries the feeling with more questions and promises the rest for another time when the connotations of loss don’t follow sacrifice in Lexa’s recent memory.

“Twenty two years.” Lexa interrupts Clarke’s distant expression. The flippant way she reveals her age to Clarke has her smiling while Lexa tempers the same reaction in the face of Clarke’s smile. 

“Eighteen.” Clarke responds. “Though I’m pretty sure we’ve missed my birthday. Trying not to get killed and everything.”

The humor is ill timed but Lexa at least looks amused when she leads them away from the desk to chairs. Clarke only sits when Lexa offers, because she can’t remember the last time, other than dinner, that they sat talking to each other. When Lexa relaxes, Clarke does as well, despite knowing that their topic of choice will no doubt be far from easy.

Lexa focuses once more. “The heads of the villages and clans of my coalition ride to Polis in several days. They come to join in celebration of our victory but they come also to reaffirm their loyalty to the ties we have forged.”

“Their loyalty to you.”

Lexa places her cup down. “In a sense.” She places her hand on the arm of the chair, a wiry looking antler. “They come for you, Clarke.”

It’s testament to how much Clarke still expects the suddenness of attack and threat that she freezes at the terminology. 

“As leader of the Sky People.” Lexa states. “Your alliance is with the Trigedakru. We have fought together, suffered loss and tasted great victory.”

“It is time to take the next step.” Lexa declares. “You are a strong leader, Clarke. Your people have no need for the Ark or the protection it offers. They landed, as you did, within our territory and it is for the grace of our truce, and their actions within the Mountain that I have afforded them this liberty.”

“But they jeopardize all of this.” Lexa’s eyes are on her and only her now. “They reject the boundaries that have been set for them, refuse to acknowledge the leadership in place in favor of squabbling like children.”

It almost shocks her how much Lexa appears to know about what’s going on within the Ark. Not all of it can be from keeping up with what Octavia has told her. Once again it forces Clarke to remember that long before they arrived Lexa led on the ground.

The Ark ignores Lexa’s culture, the land, those that have already given so much.

“We recognize only you.” Lexa finally comes around to her point. “And soon, the rest of my people will too.”

Clarke finds her voice. “What am I here for, Lexa?”

Lexa pauses meaningfully just to discern Clarke’s emotions. There are a lot of things running through her head right now and Clarke can only ask for Lexa to spell it out. 

“I intend to announce to the people of my coalition several things.” Lexa sits up straight in her chair and Clarke suddenly feels like she’s sitting in front of Lexa’s throne. “That the area surrounding the drop ship is now under my protection and that you and your people are not to be harmed.”

Lexa watches her carefully for the next part.

“And that you are to be acknowledged and treated as leader of the Sky People.”

Clarke feels a lump in her throat as she asks. “And the people of the Ark?”

“The Ark will be afforded no power in these lands and their leader will not be negotiated with or recognized by my people. I will do nothing unless they display aggression towards my people. You may advocate for them Clarke, but you are not one of them.”

“Not one of them?” Clarke bristles at the blunt statement. “Those are my people.”

“Did your people not imprison you?” Lexa questions. “Is that customary?”

Clarke is kind of glad there isn’t anyone else here in the room because there would probably be a resounding ‘yes’ if Octavia or Bellamy overheard that.

“Things were different on the Ark. Resources were scarce and we had to do anything we could to ensure the survival of our people. Just like you.” It’s a speech that her mother has committed into her memory. 

“And my mother--” Clarke remembers the look on her face when Clarke told her to get out of the way when releasing Emerson. The same look she wore after they left Tondc. Barely masked disappointment. “She stands by her decisions and locking me up certainly wasn’t the only hard decision she’s had to make.” 

On Abby’s scale she’s sure locking up her daughter out of self righteousness doesn’t come close to touching leaking her husband’s plans to Chancellor Jaha- being responsible for his execution. 

The repetition makes her tongue feel heavy like she’s wading through the words. Tiny doses become harder to swallow the more she says them. That’s what the Ark -was- like. That -was- necessary. Things -needed- to be that way for them all to live on the Ark. 

Space offered nothing but safety from the ground they thought to be uninhabitable. Parents offer open arms to their children and feed them stories about the unknown darkness in the woods at night for the same reason. Deterrence. 

But this isn’t the Ark, Clarke led them out- away not to look back and it hits her as drumming starts outside, the celebrations rising up again, that she’s not here for the Ark. She’s not here to argue for her mother or Kane or any of the other stations that may exist out there. She’s here because Lexa asked her to be. 

“If all of that is true-” Lexa tilts her head and offers something that silences her. “-then why did you leave?”

The bluntness of the question stops Clarke in her tracks. It’s not asked with malice or judgment but instead with an almost wide eyed curiosity. At once Clarke realizes the mess of contradictions she’s become. She can’t live within the walls of the Ark because it was nearly suffocating but when faced with actual freedom she finds herself mentally backtracking. 

And that’s what Lexa is offering them. Freedom, autonomy, a way to set out on their own as something more than a breakaway camp. Yet there’s something still tugging inside of her. The weight of expectation she’s been raised with to be a good daughter and a good person. Even after everything, after losing her father and being imprisoned on the Ark, she feels the pull of that expectation. 

In some very significant way accepting what Lexa is offering her is admitting that she’s failed at being those things. Clarke knows with a heavy heart that’s how her mother will see it. She doesn’t even allow herself to consider what her father would think. 

Though it’s difficult to see how the choices she’s made, the choices that they’ve all made, have led her to any other outcome. 

Clarke swallows her pride at Lexa being the one to lay it out for her. Her initial anger at what she perceived to be Lexa telling her who she has become is actually anger at herself for not realizing it sooner. She’s not just Clarke Griffin, she hasn’t been for longer than she’d like to admit. 

No. 

She’s Clarke Griffin, Leader of the Sky People. Even rolling it around in her head feels so foreign like it should be somebody, anybody else, but not her. But it is her. And not because Lexa bestowed the title upon her but because it’s who she’s become. 

Her own voice echoes in her head with all the times she’s told someone that she ‘never asked for this’. In the end no one asks for this, no sane person would, but instinct dictates and her mother knew from the beginning. The hazy words Clarke remembers before she was put on the drop ship about taking care of everyone and warning her about it. She can’t hide from what she’s wired to do.

“Clarke,” Lexa leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. There’s smudges in the corners of her eyes where Lexa hasn’t removed her war paint well enough. It looks like charcoal and Clarke wants to smooth it out. “No one asks for this.”

There’s something settling about hearing Lexa say that. Lexa who speaks so often of reincarnation and duty and the responsibility of a leader. Clarke can picture a time in Lexa’s life, when her hair wasn’t braided with the precision of a warrior and so small that she struggled to see over the shortest of walls, that she imagined a life outside of the one she was born for. Free of the expectations of her people and the future they all predicted for her. 

One where Lexa grew up not thinking that love was the worst thing that could happen to a person.

Clarke reaches out for Lexa’s hand, fingers brushing against her knuckles and not leather gloves.

Lexa turns her palm up. 

Clarke looks down at the gentle way Lexa holds her hand there and forgets that these hands have held swords and fired guns. “Okay,” She nods. “But there are things we need to talk about.”

These things escape her now with the contact and that’s okay because there’s noise outside, the celebrations are kicking off and they have time before the coalition arrives in Polis. Before Clarke has to bear the full brunt of responsibility in front of Lexa’s people.

Lexa’s gaze softens, she thinks, it might just be the candlelight. “Not tonight.” Her fingertips touch Clarke’s wrist. 

Clarke’s smile is drawn out and relieved. “No.” She keeps their hands together and rubs a circle with her thumb against Lexa’s palm. “Not yet.”

 

*


	3. act three

*

Octavia’s sword is strapped to her back and she stands tall and proud as Clarke walks up behind her. Their time inside Lexa’s walls has seen a lot of changes but this is the first time Clarke’s seen Octavia looking in her element again. It sparks a thousand thoughts in her head, things she needs to ensure before she returns to NavYard, the name still foreign on her tongue but she’s getting used to it. For now she places a hand on Octavia’s elbow. “Hey.”

Octavia smirks proudly. “Chief.”

“Don’t call me that.” Clarke laughs breathily. She plays with the leather bound book in her hand restlessly. “How much time do we have?”

Octavia jerks her head up, motioning to unseen things outside the walls. “From what I can see, not much.” She stares at Clarke and steadies her hand on the book. “Everything looks beautiful.”

“I’ve missed that look in your eye.”

“What look?”

“Wonder.” Clarke replies. “Don’t lose it.” She whispers with a nervous afterthought. 

Octavia’s hand is warm over her knuckles. 

The clans arrive and though Clarke hasn’t seen everything she wants, she’s caught glimpses of the leaders that are staying in Lexa’s compound for the duration. They’ve brought horses and tents, tokens and presents-

Like the one she holds in her hand now.

-and a number of men and women to join in the festival that seems to have sprung out of nothing on the strip of grass outside Lexa’s home. Clarke hasn’t been able to see anything yet, too busy washing out paint and charcoal from her hands, forearms and anywhere light seems to touch. But she’s finished. 

“What’s that?” Clarke takes note of the item in Octavia’s hand. Wrapped carefully in a thick piece of material.

Octavia looks down on it, like she’s surprised to be holding it. “A gift. For Indra.” She gives Clarke a nervous smile that betrays how much it means. “For the festival.”

She has a faraway look in her eye that Clarke pulls out. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.” Octavia replies. “Indra won’t tell me much but me and a few other seconds are travelling out. We’ve been through hell and this is the last part of it.”

“And what happens after?”

“After? I become one of them. A true warrior.” Octavia’s chest puffs out, the thought of it filling her with pride. “Depending on what happens I’ll stay in Tondc with Indra unless-”

“Unless what?” 

Octavia glances at her. “Unless I’m needed elsewhere.” 

The front door is pushed open from the outside and they get a glimpse of the outside. Lincoln holds the door for them. “We’re ready for you.”

Octavia stands aside. “After you, chief.”

Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately at the title that Octavia insists upon. Stepping outside Clarke begins to understand the meaning of celebration. Twinkling candles melt into stone walls, handmade lanterns hang from ropes that run from one end of the field to the other, all pitched up by metal rods. Tents have been moved and repurposed to house tables while huge tree trunks are laid around open fire pits. 

The smell of meat cooking is everywhere. Designated cooks gather ingredients from all corners, pans and pots and tasting as they go. Warmth fills her as she wanders with Octavia through the festivities. Everyone seems to be wearing joyful expressions. Many drink, only a little until after the formalities, to get themselves ready for the long night. 

“Is that-?” Clarke listens.

“Music.” Octavia utters gleefully. 

It’s nothing they know. Strings and drumming and voices. Old Grounder songs, Clarke presumes, filled with stories of battles and glory. The kind that give her chills to think about and spark curiosity as to what songs will be sung about the fall of the mountain. 

There are Grounders everywhere and spending so much time with the Trigedakru it’s easy to stop who belongs and who doesn’t. There are differences in tattoos, in the colors of their furs, size and hair. Clarke pays closer attention to a few men that pass with light blue- white even, paint crossing over their faces. Their tattoos are different to Lincoln’s and Indra’s.

Octavia notices too and she walks closer to her. 

Others wear lighter armor, hold weapons suited to different terrain and laugh more freely. Clarke spies a woman sharpening a trident who bows her head with a smile when she catches Clarke looking at her. 

(Clarke definitely looks away quickly and ignores Octavia’s snickering).

They make their way towards the biggest fire because that’s where everyone else is walking. Lincoln is somewhere behind them and it comforts Clarke to know that someone is watching her back as well as Octavia. That sense of threat hasn’t gone away so much as its simmered down. But Clarke is walking into a crowd of unfamiliar faces, and she needs to know who to turn to.

The fire is surrounded by wooden tables and benches, much like the ones inside. They all look as if they’ve just been made. Only one chair, which Clarke recognizes immediately as Lexa’s, dictates a reserved spot. 

Just when Clarke is about to ask, Lincoln comes up beside her. “Everyone will be seated shortly. The Commander will say a few words before we eat. After the meal she will introduce Clarke to the rest of the clans.”

“That simple, huh.” Clarke mutters.

Lincoln nods. “We can only hope.” He looks ahead. “The Commander will discuss it further in the next few days. Tonight is not about working it all out. Formalities aside, tonight is about celebrating our victories, honoring our dead.”

Clarke purses her lips. 

“Everything else will come in the morning.”

If only everything could be put off like that, Clarke wonders. “Alright, where are we?”

Clarke’s seat is the one to the right of Lexa’s throne while Octavia has the honor of a place next to Indra. Clarke can clearly see the look of muted excitement on Octavia’s face when she offers up her gift to Indra (which turns out to be a box, topped with designs carved by hand, containing several vials that Lincoln no doubt had a hand in fashioning with Octavia). Clarke watches close enough to see Indra smile and leaves both of them to enjoy their moment.

Clarke takes a seat as many begin to find their places. On her left, the woman with the trident sits, followed by some of her warriors. No one talks to her, the outsider with no armor or weapons brought to the table, and Clarke keeps to herself, making note of the exits and the people all around her. 

The drumming stops momentarily. 

They stand when Lexa arrives, not just the people around the table but all those that sit around fires in the camp. Lexa’s presence commands that respect. There’s no one else on Earth that Clarke has seen who can wield that. 

It’s not something that can be elected. 

Lexa surveys her people briefly before sweeping her red sash underneath her and taking a seat. Clarke and the rest follow her and some of the seconds in the crowd scramble to pour water for the guests around the table. Clarke feels underdressed in the leather jacket she wore before the battle. The strap of her shoulder guard feels tight underneath her arm but she doesn’t move to adjust it. 

The longer she stays still, the more Clarke realizes just how many people are watching her. From across the table, nameless heads of clans whisper to their neighbors and flash their gazes in her direction. Clarke can only hold their stares, daring them to look away. 

A boy no older than thirteen fills Clarke’s cup, then Lexa’s, without his hands shaking, before moving on down the table. Clarke leans forward to take her cup and notices who sits to Lexa’s left. 

The man doesn’t wear a sigil that marks him as a clan leader, or at least not one she can recognize after Lincoln helped her to get her bearings. But his clothing gives away who he marches for. Heavy layers of fur, leather wrapped tightly around his wrists and that white paint. Ice Nation. He drinks deeply and stares ahead. Clarke leans back.

Her curiosity alerts Lexa, who crosses a leg over her knee and relaxes into her throne like she doesn’t have a care in the world. The grip she has on the arm of her chair tells a different story. She turns her head slowly to Clarke and with a voice no louder than a whisper, she explains. 

“Keep those you trust close.” Lexa’s eyes dip from her eyes to Clarke’s neck. “And those you distrust,” 

Clarke can see through Lexa.

“Even closer.”

Old habits die hard and Clarke entertains the possibility of which category Lexa truly imagines her to fall into. But she doesn’t have time to dwell on that point because Lexa stands suddenly and everyone falls silent. 

What follows is a true show of power. Not with violence but with words. From what Clarke can understand Lexa is welcoming the clans and affirming their unity but it’s so much more than that. She’s not just giving a speech but weaving a tale and everyone sits rapt with attention. 

Clarke hears her name. It’s not easy to miss with the way Lexa says it like she’s making every syllable count. She sits up even straighter in her chair. 

No weakness, not a glimpse. Even if she’s struggling to keep up with what’s being said she knows it pertains to her and that’s enough. 

Lexa gestures in her direction. “Heda kom Skaikru.” The leaders of the other clans bang their weapons once on the ground and grunt in approval. Lexa continues. “Yumi teik Skaikru in. Ai sad gouthru en NavYard in hukop kom Skaikru.”

Her Trigedasleng doesn’t fail her in this moment. This is Lexa telling the clans that she is the leader of the Sky People. That their land is NavYard and that they are to have passage as a direct order from the Commander. 

The leaders repeat the slamming of their weapons on the ground and Lexa speaks faster, more impassioned. As clearly as Clarke understood her before she’s lost now. What Lexa’s saying wasn’t in Lincoln’s notebook and Clarke reminds herself to ask Lincoln for a summary afterwards. 

Whatever it is Lexa ends with a clipped ‘ste yuj’ and nearly on command the food is carried out. Lexa sits back down in her throne and Clarke notices the nearly imperceptible release of tension from her shoulders. 

Food is placed in front of warriors and leaders alike but nobody touches anything until Lexa takes her first bite. And then it’s like a frenzy among the masses. The leaders eat in a slightly more dignified manner. Some talking amongst themselves and others more focused on the food. 

Lexa turns to her and lifts her glass full of rich, red wine. “Drein daun, Clarke.”

It harkens back to the first time Lexa ever said those words to her and what a disaster it almost became. This time is different though. The festivities have their formal purpose but to Clarke it’s something different. A new beginning, a fresh start. 

She lifts her glass in return with a small smile. “Drein daun.”

They drink and it feels like starting over. 

*

It seems like the feast will never run out of food and for a moment Clarke wonders how long the Grounders had to hunt to provide this much fresh meat. She only wonders for a moment because she’s so full of food and wine that it doesn’t seem to matter how it all got there. 

Clarke forces herself to focus on the matter at hand, the gifts being laid down in front of by the leaders of the twelve clans. Lexa assured her that the other leaders wouldn’t expect gifts back, not this time, but it’s customary to receive them and rude to refuse. 

That doesn’t mean she’s not going to give Lexa something. If not for her hospitality then for what they’ve already done together. She remembers the bound book in her possession and presses a hand against the inside of her jacket to make sure it’s still there.

There’s weapons and food offerings and a wide variety of supplies in front of her. Clarke briefly considers how they’ll get all of this back to the ship. But she’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of belonging that it slips from her mind. 

Finally, they rest of the clan leaders finish their presentation and Lexa begins to stand. Clarke puts a hand on Lexa’s arm and stops her. “Wait.”

Even though this evening has been a celebration of togetherness and unity, Lexa’s guards still tighten their grips on their weapons. Clarke wouldn’t haven’t it any other way. 

But she needs to give her gift before she loses her nerve. 

“I know you said we didn’t have to give anything tonight.” Clarke pauses and pulls the book from inside of jacket. “But I’m a terrible listener.”

Lexa smiles so slightly that Clarke’s pretty sure you’d have to be as close they’re sitting to see it. She takes the book with a mumbled ‘mochof’ as she takes a cursory glance through the pages. 

The pages are filled with drawings from memory. Things that she’s seen since she’s been down on the ground. Scenery and wildlife and people. Clarke blushes at the memory of the image of Lexa drawn toward the back of the book. 

An image that Lexa must have just seen because she pins Clarke with a look that she hasn’t seen since they left the tent on the outskirts of Mount Weather. 

Lexa clears her throat and closes the book. “Thank you.” She says placing the book down on the table beside her with reverence and Clarke can see just how much her gift is appreciated even if Lexa can’t fully express that in front of everyone. 

With a single hand motion to her guards Lexa stands and soon there’s a cart filled to the brim with weapons and food and supplies being pulled around the corner. From what Clarke can see there’s swords and dried meats, some fruits, and enough scrap material to entertain Raven and Wick for weeks. 

Behind the guards and the cart, a woman leads out a large white horse by it’s reins. Lexa steps down and meets the woman halfway, taking the reins and walking the horse the rest of the way to Clarke. 

“For the Sky People.” Lexa’s voice booms through the area as she gestures to the cart and back to Clarke. Clarke who can’t help but peek over Lexa’s shoulder because they’ll be set for at least a month with what she sees in that cart. 

Lexa motions for Clarke to stand and move towards her and the horse. “For you.”

“She’s pretty.” Clarke sighs, stroking the horse’s nose.

Lexa hands off the reins to her. “Yes, strong and reliable. She will carry you many miles.”

Clarke continues to stroke the horse’s nose. It’s a gorgeous animal, broad and strong, but also somehow elegant and regal. She has no doubt that it’ll carry her many miles but she also doesn’t doubt that Lexa might have just given her one of the best horses in her possession. 

Perhaps this is why Lexa stressed the rudeness of refusing gifts because this is all almost too much. 

“You can keep her in my stables as long as you wish to stay.” Lexa continues before motioning for the same woman who brought the horse to take her away again. 

There’s no doubting that this is the gift of all gifts. And it puts Clarke’s gesture to shame if it were to be compared but the book Clarke gave her is tucked under Lexa’s arm, like she doesn’t trust it with anyone else, and Clarke’s hand rests against the nose of the horse like she’s holding onto it.

There’s a great many things Clarke can think of doing now but the night isn’t dark enough for any of them. 

Clarke only has her voice in place of her body and the words shudder out of her. “Thank you.”

She can’t count the endless things that have been provided for her and the rest of her people within the last few hours but this is by far the only thing she’ll remember.

After all, what’s a blanket and a roaring fire to seeing how much Lexa wishes for Clarke touch her written over her face?

“It was my pleasure.” 

What are words compared to the promise of Lexa’s tone?

Her horse nudges it’s nose against Clarke’s cheek and with a laugh the moment flutters into memory. Clarke hands the reins over and while she can afford to look anywhere else Clarke still looks at Lexa. 

The cart will make the journey a few days before Clarke will and there’s no doubt everyone at the drop ship will be glad to see the gift. A sign of success and generosity that will be appreciated. 

All she can think is ‘thank you’ and hope the word will affect Lexa. It becomes clear that it won’t be enough and Clarke would take the sketchbook back for a second chance at this. Making a better impression of her gratitude. 

Her thoughts are halted when Ryder comes to Lexa’s side and whispers something into her ear. Lexa nods slightly and doesn’t give anything away. 

“There are some matters I need to attend to.” Lexa announces to the surrounding group. Her words do a good job of dispersing many until it’s just Clarke and Ryder waiting on Lexa. Then she’s just addressing Clarke. “If you need anything, my people will be happy to provide it.”

Clarke can’t resist. “Anything?”

Lexa’s lip becomes a half smile that Clarke finds charming. “Enjoy the night, Clarke.” Her eyes sweep over the festivities. “It is all for you.”

*

The last glass of wine is still working it’s way down Clarke’s throat as she retreats to the entrance of Lexa’s home. 

Clarke twists the dial on her father’s watch as she walks to Lexa’s door. Once she’s there she can’t show that kind of nervous tick, the Grounder standing guard at the door will look for any reason not to admit her. 

In the end her hands don’t matter because there’s no one there.

No guard, no defense. Keep your enemies close. 

Clarke has one hand on her hip, grabbing at her gun, and the other on the door. She can’t hear anything but a sudden rush of blood through her head as she prepares to open the door. 

In the end she pushes it quietly, trying not to give away her advantage but ends up pinpointing the moment that her stomach drops.

Clarke can only hover by the door as she watches a woman, who looks slightly older than herself, brush the back of her hand against Lexa’s face. Lexa is free of paint and ash and probably the smell of the bonfires that still clings to Clarke’s body. 

She stands there and watches the woman kiss down Lexa’s neck almost reverently. The woman looks up and her eyes widen in shock when she spots Clarke. 

“Heda kom Skaikru.” The woman murmurs and it takes a second for the words to sink in. Lexa finally spots her, or so it appears but without a guard Clarke can only assume Lexa was aware the whole time, and presses her lips together. There’s a sigh that Clarke doesn’t acknowledge over the loud mess of sheets and blankets. The bed that Clarke can’t tear her eyes away from. 

When Lexa addresses her, she does so on her feet. Like moving away from the bed will bring distance from the act in Clarke’s mind. “The festivities will go on well into the night, Clarke. It would be a shame for you to miss it.”

Clarke’s throat feels dry and her eyes are drawn over Lexa’s shoulder to the woman that hasn’t moved from Lexa’s bed. 

“Considering my people celebrate yours.” Lexa’s eyes gaze down at her lips before safely looking at her eyes again.

Her disbelief morphs quickly into something stubborn. ‘Really?’ is written over her face. 

Lexa must see the shake in her jaw and she turns to the woman on her bed. All it takes is a nod of Lexa’s head and it has the woman gathering her shawl from the bed and heading for the door. 

“Hod op.” Lexa gives clear instructions to the woman as she walks past. Lexa’s restraint holds well even after the woman leaves. Clarke thinks for a second she’s gotten it all wrong until she spots a bruise on the side of Lexa’s neck. Definitely not from morning training.

The door closes and Clarke feels like she can breathe easier when it’s just the two of them. 

Lexa doesn’t react to it though. “One of my attendants-”

“Attendants?” Clarke looks at Lexa. “Give me more credit than that.”

Lexa does but she’s not one to apologize. Clarke feels light but not calm. As if a million things are lifting from her shoulders and buzzing in her ears instead. 

“It is considered an honor amongst my people.” Lexa doesn’t drop her stare, not that Clarke expected her to. Lexa never wavers. 

Clarke feels her throat tighten as the detached words sink in. Her voice becomes brittle. “Consider me honored.”

“You have a lot yet to understand about our culture, Clarke.” Lexa’s frustration becomes more evident as she takes a step back from her. 

“I think I understood that just fine.”

“Understanding the situation is not comparable.” Lexa creates distance between them and Clarke readily steps into it. “I won’t be alone tonight.”

Whatever her implication is Lexa’s ‘attendant’ will be waiting outside until Lexa tells her to leave. Those buzzing thoughts and emotions sting and Clarke makes a rash decision by taking off her jacket and depositing it over the back of a chair. Lexa turns at the noise and her eyes roam over the freed skin of her shoulders.

“No, I don’t suppose you will be.”

Lexa sits down, crossing her leg over her knee and suddenly Clarke realizes what has been throwing her off. Lexa isn’t dressed for war, but shorts and a tank top that offers more to Clarke’s imagination. And thigh. Suddenly, it seems, Lexa is not just a master tactician for the battlefield. “Why did you come here tonight, Clarke?”

“Tell her she’s not coming back tonight.” Clarke surges with adrenaline. She didn’t mistake the looks outside. She didn’t misread. Lexa knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Why would I do that?” Her head tilts slightly and Clarke hates her in that second for acting like Clarke isn’t justified in asking this. 

Clarke steps forward until her boot is a tap away from Lexa’s chair. She makes herself perfectly clear. “Tell her to leave.”

Lexa stares up at her but somehow manages to make Clarke feel like she’s towering over her. Lexa moves like she’s debating Clarke’s request. Her fingers tap against the antler arm of the chair and her eyes move down Clarke’s body, studying. 

Then she stands. Eye to eye with Clarke and then shoulders brushing. Clarke can’t bring herself to turn around at the sound of Lexa’s bare feet against cool stone. When the door opens she manages to face the image of Lexa’s back, shoulders tense under the tank top, doing as Clarke asked. 

Footsteps follow her order and Lexa closes the door on whatever plans she originally had for the night. She returns to Clarke with an intensity that she’s unprepared for and Clarke takes a single step back when Lexa squares up to her. 

Apparently Lexa doesn’t need an army behind her or a sword at her side to make Clarke shiver. Then again, what else is new. 

It’s fleeting because Lexa continues past her, towards her bed. “Why did you come here?”

Clarke is sick of talking to Lexa’s back after nothing but distance these last few months. She didn’t come here to be ignored. 

Her rush of footsteps make a noise and Lexa turns with alarm, a knife in her hand, like she expecting Clarke to attack her. 

It drops to the floor with a clang when Clarke balls her fist in the front of Lexa’s shirt. She turns them toward the bed in one swift motion.

Clarke looks down at Lexa’s feet as they back up clumsily until Clarke has her backed against the edge of the bed. Familiar territory as Clarke promises to undo whatever had already been done. Her hand goes to Lexa’s waist and she feels Lexa tense under her touch the way only someone so unused to being handled does. 

It seems all kinds of roles get reversed when they’re together. 

Lexa’s eyes flit down to the grip Clarke still has on her shirt and that’s all the signal Clarke needs to pull her in. Her fist is trapped between their stomachs when Clarke kisses her. Her hand tightens on Lexa’s shirt because she can’t grip Lexa’s hip harder. Lexa kisses her softly when Clarke wishes she wouldn’t. Nothing coaxes Lexa away from that gentleness than Clarke biting on her bottom lip and pulling. That brings them closer, has Lexa holding the back of Clarke’s neck, and kissing harder. 

Clarke breaks it off just to make it clear. 

“Like you said,” Clarke’s tongue darts across her lips. Lexa watches the action with obvious interest, her eyes chasing the kiss again. “I’m here to celebrate.”

*

Light streams through the window. It’s cold in the room, the sun isn’t filling up the space yet, still barely peeking over the edge of the window. Clarke hides her shoulders underneath heavy furs once again, pushing her face into soft pillows, to escape the chill. Her eyes flutter open and close a few times, like she’s deciding whether or not the day is worth facing or if her dreams are worth falling back to sleep again.

It’s a choice that’s made for her when she moves, trying to ease back into the comfort that she fell asleep with, and doesn’t feel Lexa’s arms around her. 

Her response is to shake off the last remaining sleep she still feels and push the covers down. Pulling them back isn’t going to show Lexa hiding beneath them but Clarke still searches. 

Clarke looks elsewhere. Her own clothes are pooled at the end of the bed and her shoes are still lying where she kicked them off the night before. Lexa’s clothes are missing. Her armor gone. 

Clarke almost flops backwards in frustration but the swelling hurt inside her doesn’t let her. “Fuck.”

Somehow she expected this. As much as it pains her to admit it. 

Clarke can’t stand to stay in bed now that she’s alone. The stone floors are freezing and she has to hop around until her feet get used to it while she finds her clothes. 

Everything smells like bonfire. Clarke rushes to dress, pulling on her pants and boots, tying the laces tighter than they need to be. She pulls her hair out of her shirt after she puts it on. The last remaining thing is her jacket and the shoulder guard that she grits her teeth when securing. 

She shouldn’t have to be doing this willingly. She shouldn’t have to be up and alone and getting dressed because there’s nothing to keep her here. Clarke is done with this morning before it’s even begun. 

She shoves her gun back in it’s holster and leaves before the sun streams into the room.

There’s two guards posted up on either side of the door when Clarke opens it and she clenches her jaw as she keeps her head down and rushes past them. Lexa’s somehow made her feel used and it fills her with something that feels a lot like rage. 

Whatever her plans were she knows now that she’ll be gone by nightfall. 

Lincoln is the first of her people that she sees when she heads out into Polis. The look on her face must get his attention because her approaches her before she can call him over. 

He doesn’t say a word and Clarke looks at him sharply. “Gather your things, we’re leaving.”

“But Octavia won’t be back for a week.”

“Then stay.” Clarke responds and she sounds bitter even in her own mind. “But I’m leaving.”

Lincoln seems to be working through something in his head. “Then we’ll go.” He pauses and scans his eyes around their immediate area. “I just need to get a message to Octavia to meet us back home.”

“You do that. We leave in one hour.” Clarke doesn’t wait for him to agree before she’s headed off to the stables. Just because Lexa’s embarrassed her doesn’t mean that Clarke won’t be taking the horse. 

After all it is rude to refuse a gift. 

On her way to the stables she passes by their cart full of supplies that Lexa had given them and she makes it known that they’ll be heading back in an hour and the supplies are coming with her. It seems Lexa has already set aside a few Grounders to make the trip and somehow that forethought only fuels Clarke’s anger. 

Saddling up her horse takes a little bit longer and the woman in the stable takes pity on her and helps with gear. 

Safe to say that doesn’t improve her mood either. 

Lincoln’s waiting where she told him to be on his horse. The Grounders and her cart lag just a little bit behind. 

In the middle of her irritation she lets herself look around one last time. Polis is still a wonder in her eyes and Clarke takes it all in, unsure of when she’ll be back here next. If at all. 

Her horse grows impatient and she’s about to ride off and out of the gates when she spots Lexa. After that it’s hard to see anything else.

Clarke can’t hide the hurt on her face no more than Lexa seems to be able to when she spots Clarke on her horse. Lexa ignores whoever is by her side, prompting her attention, just to watch her. 

It hurts because she was so happy. There was nothing more that she wanted last night than to wake up to a better morning, together. 

But life on the ground isn’t like that. Clarke finds she’s always being reminded. 

So when Lexa looks to move towards her, words on her tongue that might sound like apologies but guard other things, Clarke pulls at the reins. 

Polis is behind her before she allows herself to think about what Lexa might have wanted to say. 

*

Lincoln seems to respect the mood she’s in on the ride back home and instead of trying to engage in conversation with her he hangs back with the Grounders pulling their cart of supplies. Clarke barely even looks back there. Looking back reminds her of Lexa giving her the gift. 

And the night that followed. 

There’s enough reminders of Lexa in everything she does. She’s trying to minimize them where she can. 

The ride feels shorter than it was on the way out. Clarke knows that she’s urging them on faster and the nights seem to be growing longer but it’s still a surprise when they make it back to NavYard late on the fourth day. 

A wave of relief comes over her as she spots the tip of the drop ship and the surrounding walls. Lincoln blasts on his horn to let the gate know of their approach as he’s done before. Clarke guides her horse, who remains unnamed as of yet, towards the main gate. 

There are somethings that remained intact after the fight at the drop ship all those months ago. The gate is one of them. The walls around it have been reinforced since their return and Clarke can see subtle differences in her own absence. They look stronger, better camouflaged and manned. 

The gate opens to reveal the inside of her home.

The mud inside is dry but footprints are pressed into softer parts. The ash that once littered the ground has been stomped out and moved. A fire is roaring when Clarke rides in and Monty is the first one she sees, coming up with no fear of the horse to take the reins. 

Clarke dismounts with ease and throws her arms around him like it’s been months rather than days. He’s soft, the sweater he’s wearing tickles her cheeks and he holds her just as tightly. “Welcome home.”

When she pulls away the rest of her people come into sight. And then more.

Clarke looks to Monty. 

He gives her a sheepish look. “After you left, Raven got some of the radios working. Same frequency as the Ark.”

Lincoln’s boots clomp heavily behind her. Monty continues. “We got in contact with a few people. Some of the 48 we freed.”

Clarke looks around at new faces. Weary looks in a familiar setting. 

“We didn’t know what to do but after everything. I didn’t think you’d tell us to leave them there.” Monty confesses. 

“No.” Clarke rubs his shoulder. “You guys did the right thing.”

She lets Lincoln take care of the horses and the Grounders follow into their camp with the cart. There will be time to ask if everything went alright, who they went back for and how things have fared in her short stay away. But for now the Grounders are pulling the sheet of the top of the cart and revealing all of it’s treasures. 

“Polis was a triumph then?” 

Clarke looks over her shoulder and smiles. Raven comes to stand beside her, leaning on her right leg, and into Clarke’s shoulder slightly. It’s the closest contact they’ve had in a while and Clarke feels herself beaming despite how she feels. The smile only falters when she realizes what Raven is asking. Clarke turns her attention to the cart and the Grounders dealing with happy, mucky teenagers all clamouring to take some of the food and gifts out of their hands. 

Monty goes over to help sort things out. Clarke can see Jasper sitting off to the side but he doesn’t make a move. 

“They’ve granted us the land.” Clarke sounds like she’s trying to clear a cough. Her voice is weaker. “Protection for all the people here. Alliances between our people.” She pauses wondering if she should confess the next part. “She told everyone I was the leader.”

“I never voted for you.” Raven scoffs but Clarke’s alarm fades when she sees the amusement on Raven’s face. “And the Commander?”

Clarke bites the inside of her cheek and with her voice still sounding like it’s about to crack, Clarke tries to cover her tracks. “Lexa refuses have anything to do with the Ark.”

“What do you mean?” Raven questions.

Bellamy comes over before she can elaborate, with a new cut under his eye that he assures them was from trying to fix the hole in the side of the drop ship that Murphy blew open, and a grin for Clarke. She appreciates the way he hugs her, waiting for a moment to see if that was something she wanted, and Raven’s laughter.

“So, how was the capitol?”

“Yeah,” Raven crosses her arms. “Tell us everything, chief.”

Chief sounds just as lovingly sarcastic coming off of Raven’s lips as it does Octavia’s. Her heart is heavy but Clarke knows the best way to avoid thinking about it is to talk about anything else.

“Lets get inside.” Clarke sighs and tries to hide it all with a smile. “I’ll take you through the details.”

*

The half mile of forest surrounding NavYard comes alive in the night. The radiation soaked Earth lights trees and branches up like neon lights. There’s a nostalgic feeling for the Ark whenever any of them spend the night amongst the trees. 

They are a source of wonder and a reminder that Earth can have a dream like quality still, even when so much of it has become a fuel for her nightmares. 

It’s been months since the Mountain fell and several more since Clarke returned from Polis.

There’s a glowing blue vine in the Grounder’s hair that isn’t displaced when he’s carried into camp. Clarke kneels down and takes his pulse. It’s redundant though. 

Her fingers came away black with ash. 

“He’s gone.”

Ryder bows his head and Clarke echoes the words along with him. “Yu gonplei ste odon.”

“What happened?” Clarke doesn’t look away from the young Grounder’s face. He was new to their camp. Joining a few weeks ago when Lincoln returned from one of his many trips to Tondc. Their small village has been growing steadily with the remaining 100 and the Grounder guards who came to make their home with the Sky People. 

Clarke closes his eyes. 

Muddy boots come into her vision. They’re scuffed. Dried blood on the toes. 

Octavia looks tougher every time Clarke sees her. Tondc is shaping her into the warrior that Indra always saw inside her. That strength of spirit channeled into someone Clarke recognizes less and less as Bellamy’s rebellious little sister and into the woman charged with her protection.

Octavia went into the woods a girl, a second, and returned, bloody, bruised and victorious. Octavia came to Earth and it was a homecoming. 

“Burnt.” Octavia states. Her jaw is clenched and Clarke knows that this isn’t what she expected to find on her ride back from visiting Lincoln. 

“Burnt alive?” Clarke asks. Worry dries up her throat. Fire is no way to die. 

Octavia shakes her head. “There are no signs that he struggled. He was dead before the fire.”

Clarke looks again over the charred remains. She can barely make out his features. Guilt falls upon her when she realizes that her concern for him wasn’t fast enough when Bellamy reported him missing. She’d assumed he’d traveled further in search of better hunting grounds, camped out, and was returning to them soon. 

“We need to check over his body. See what killed him.” Clarke detaches herself from it as much as she can. He’s passed over now. It’s her job to make sure whatever brought his end isn’t going to be a threat to them. 

He’s taken to the medical bay. A solid structure made from scavenged metal. One of their improvements to the camp is making the most of the materials around them. The drop ship, the central hub of the camp, sits in the middle with tents and more and more makeshift shacks sprouting up when Bellamy and his crew find time and materials. 

Everything relies on need. And what Clarke needed before anything else was a fully functioning medical bay. 

Raven and Monty delivered.

Octavia watches the Grounder’s body disappear into the drop ship, her jaw clenches. 

Clarke aims to distract her once again and focus Octavia on her homecoming. It’s been two months since she was relieved of the title of ‘second’. Clarke can count on one hand the times she’s seen Octavia since then. “How is Indra?”

“Healthy.” Octavia replies bluntly. “Tondc is flourishing again. Indra is preparing for the last harvest before winter.”

The news from all surrounding villages is the same. Though Clarke doesn’t like listening in on the radios that Raven has set to the Ark’s frequency, she knows that Camp Jaha is preparing. Clarke is preoccupied with the task as well, pulling together all her resources and making use of the supplies that they have, finding those that they don’t. They should be ready when it comes. 

Better walls. Thicker and sturdier tents and shelter for all. There are animal pelts drying around camp above fires. Stocks of dried out meat and berries are kept cool at the top of the drop ship where her quarters are. Stronger walls provide safety and Clarke will see as many of her people through the winter as she can.

She gazes at the entrance to the medical bay. 

But not all of them might fall victim to the cold. 

“How long are you here for?” Clarke asks. 

Octavia’s shoulders relax. “A week or so. I wanted to come back and make sure everything was okay here.” She looks over at Clarke. “And I missed you.”

“And Bellamy?”

Octavia smirks. “A little.”

“I won’t tell him I’m your favorite.” Clarke jokes through the nature of Octavia’s arrival. 

Octavia lets the statement hang in the air before making her way further into camp. Clarke watches over her as she runs into Raven and exchanges a few words before embracing her. Every touch is one of longing and happiness. Raven’s face scrunches up on Octavia’s shoulder with affection and Clarke echoes it in her heart. 

Bellamy is standing over the body of the Grounder when Clarke enters the medical bay. Everything is clean and prepared in advance of hunting party accidents or any scrapes that Octavia usually rolls in with. They haven’t worried about anything more serious in a few weeks. The woods have been quiet. It doesn’t mean Clarke isn’t well versed in the contents of her shelves and stores. Her fingers itch for something to cure the tightness of her stomach and rid the air of burnt flesh. 

Bellamy looks tiredly over the body. “His name was Lee.”

Clarke knows every face in NavYard. She knows what it felt like, their first few days on Earth, to be nameless. To be unimportant. She knows just as well how it feels to lose people. Clarke might have recovered her friends from the Mountain but there are some that never made it, some still living in the Ark wishing for more, and Clarke remembers them all. 

Someone has to.

Clarke douses her hands in alcohol before picking up a knife to cut away the pieces of the shirt on Lee’s body. Pulling the material from charred flesh makes her hands hold the knife tighter, for the last time she did this her patient was more vocal.

Bellamy helps where he can, lifting and pulling Lee’s body so Clarke can inspect him for wounds. There’s nothing visible to the eye until Clarke and Bellamy roll him onto his side and Clarke sees a chunk missing from the back of Lee’s thigh. 

Clarke is past reacting to this kind of thing but she does hold her breath as she cuts away the leg of his pants to get a closer look.

“Arrow wound?” Bellamy asks. 

Clarke shakes her head. “There’s no mark there. It’s like they’ve scooped out half of his thigh with a knife.” No trace of the wound remains. “He bled out.” To put it simply. 

The rest of her inspection comes away with nothing. Bellamy washes his hands with her afterwards. “What are you thinking?” He asks. 

Clarke wrings her hands but doesn’t dry them. “That someone or something managed to kill one of our people less than two miles from camp and we had no idea.” She looks at him. “He could have rotted there if Octavia hadn’t come across his body.”

“There are a lot of things in the woods that we don’t know about.”

Clarke presses her lips together. She knows that all too well. “No one leaves camp alone from now on. Hunting parties of four at least. I want everyone to have someone watching their back.”

Bellamy frowns slightly. “We don’t know what this is.”

“No. We don’t.” Clarke grabs one of the clean towels on the side and dries her hands. “But I’m not taking any chances while we don’t have to.”

“I’ll let everyone know.”

Clarke’s frustrated growl follows Bellamy out of the medical bay leaving Clarke to lean against the cool metal table, looking over Lee’s body once more. 

She finds a sheet to start to wrap up his body and thinks about how much it’ll set back their wood stockpile to give him a proper pyre. It feels a little crass to set him on fire once more but she knows the custom and he deserves that much dignity. 

With his body wrapped up she heads back out with her sights set on finding Octavia. Clarke finds her chatting seriously with Lincoln near the tent they’ve started to call home. “Octavia.” She barks out and it gets her attention. 

“Yes, Clarke.” Octavia mocks her tone but walks over to her anyway. “Did you find anything more?”

“No.” Clarke’s voice sounds grave even in her own head. She goes over the results with Octavia, nothing is a surprise until Clarke addresses her other concern. “You’re not going back to Tondc.”

Octavia lifts her eyebrow. “Is that an order?”

“It’s not safe.” Clarke stands up straighter. It might not be a direct order but she makes it sound like one. “Until we find who killed Lee, I need you here with me. Lincoln too.”

“Somebody should warn them.” Octavia reasons. Lincoln is listening in behind them now.

“I’ll have Raven radio the villages.” Clarke deflects to calm Octavia.

“You know that not every village has a radio.” Octavia points out. “And you definitely know that’s not what you need to do.”

“I’m not doing that.” Clarke bites the inside of her cheek. 

“So you’ll put our people at risk because you refuse to talk to the Commander?” It’s a worn out conversation. One that Octavia presses every time they see each other. It’s not that Clarke won’t talk to Lexa, it’s just that she’d rather not. “Either you do this the correct way or we’re not staying.” 

Octavia doesn’t know all of the details and Clarke isn’t offering them. 

“The best way to protect this village, and our people, is to make sure we can fight whatever is out there.” Clarke plays to Octavia’s ego. “You’re the best warrior out of all of us. We need you here.”

Octavia doesn’t fall for it. “It’s not just our people at risk.”

“I know.”

“She deserves to know too.” Octavia steps closer and lowers her voice, for Clarke’s sake more than anything. “Look, whatever happened between you two? I don’t care. When it starts interfering with our survival- I do care.”

Clarke stays still but she’s never been good at keeping the emotions off of her face. 

Octavia steps back again letting Clarke breathe. “Talk it out. Punch each other.” She rolls her shoulders. “Kiss and make up- whatever.”

“Octavia-” Clarke murmurs trying to interrupt.

“But don’t act like you’re avoiding her for the greater good.” Octavia spits out. “That’s bullshit.”

Clarke bears the brunt of Octavia’s little rant and she gives her a ‘are you done yet?’ look when Octavia finally finishes. 

Octavia steps back again, heading back to Lincoln but before Clarke can turn away to her own room Octavia calls out to her again. Before she says anything Clarke can see the amusement on her face, contrasting to an almost shy pressing of her fist into her palm. 

“And she misses you.” Octavia passes on a message. 

“What?” 

Octavia gives her a pointed look. “Don’t make me say it again.”

She doesn’t have to say it more than once because Clarke’s heard her loud and clear. 

Octavia sighs. “Stop blushing and go fucking radio Polis.”

Clarke denies all of it but she heads towards Raven’s makeshift station quickly so Octavia can’t capitalize on anything else. 

*

Clarke’s resistance to drinking lasts less than fifteen minutes when she finds everyone in the drop ship after her disappointing radio conversation with one of Lexa’s generals.

Octavia’s prompting had only served to work Clarke up about the conversation. When her radio call was received, the disappointment that came with finding out Lexa wasn’t there to speak to her hit hard. 

Clarke passed on the message as quickly as possible and listened, with frustration, as her concerns were made out to be unnecessary.

She may have slammed the radio down a little harder than intended when the call finished and headed straight for her friends; who have spent the majority of her recap of the conversation with Polis fiddling around with a small thin block of technology that Raven is convinced is some sort of portable music player. 

They care, of course, but three cups into Monty’s moonshine and they’re struggling to pay attention to anything other than Raven, Wick and Monty all arguing about plier sizes. 

Clarke sips on her drink. It’s still as awful as ever but at least it’s settling her nerves again after she worked herself up so much at the thought of speaking to Lexa. She was prepared to come off as distant and professional and give them the warning they needed. 

Not getting through to her, being brushed off almost, irks her. Clarke stews on the irritation and the reasons for it until Wick makes a squeak of happiness at the device. 

The screen lights up and a small white apple appears in the middle. Monty lifts both of his hands up. “We did it. I think we did it!”

He and Wick high five while Raven tells them to calm down and wait to see if the thing loads up. There’s a few tense seconds that sees them all hovering over this tiny little screen until it blinks to life with a colorful picture of the Earth. 

“Wow.” Clarke comments. “That’s a familiar view.”

Octavia scoffs. “Speak for yourself.”

Raven does the honors and slides her finger left to right on the bottom of the screen. With a small click it opens and shows off a number of floating icons that display different little pictures. 

“You read some old instruction manuals on the Ark but you never really think you’ll come face to face with a relic like this.” Wick takes control of the device, tapping his finger on an orange button with a music note. “And you said I was wasting my time.”

Raven rolls her eyes but watches in fascination with the rest of them as he scrolls down a list of names. Wick finds something he obviously likes the look of and with another tap on the screen the display changes to a piece of of album art. A cropped picture of a girl with the number ‘1989’ written over the cover. 

//I stay out too late! / Got nothing in my brain / That’s what people say, mmm-mmm//

The sound is tinny and small but it has them all laughing with success. Clarke forgets the disappointment she came into the room with and enjoys the sound of Raven laughing genuinely for the first time in months. 

Monty rushes to fill everyone’s cup before they all start awkwardly dancing around the drop ship to the music, pausing when he gets to her. “I think we deserve this.” 

Clarke lets him refill it. 

*

The device only holds it’s charge as long as it remains wired into the drop ship system. It takes a couple of days but Monty’s fixes up some of the speakers inside so that whatever they select on the ‘iPod’ filters out through the drop ship. 

Which is why Clarke lowers the volume as she flicks through the iPod’s video storage. There are a couple of music videos that she’s watched already but amongst them are some tv shows and clips. Clarke works her way through them with fascination. Getting a glimpse of what entertainment was like over a hundred years ago and more, considering some of the videos appear with release dates.

It reminds her of her father watching old basketball games with Jaha and the little entertainment they’d been able to recover on the Ark. 

But nothing like this. 

Clarke replays a trailer for some sort of space thriller involving light up swords and robots for the fourth time when Jasper wanders in.

He’s still got that faraway look in his eyes that he’s had since they freed him from the Mountain. The one that tells her a part of him still wishes that he was there with Maya, trapped together. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.” He mumbles.

Clarke gives him a smile because she’s trying. “Just playing around.”

Jasper gives her a halfhearted attempt at a grin before he disappears further into the drop ship and down the hatch where the wires are. There are still bullet holes where Murphy shot through them but Jasper spends more time down there than anywhere else. He likes the solitude.

The trailer ends and Clarke switches back to music. She gets through ‘Sugar’ by Maroon 5 and the opening to ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ has just kicked in when Wick bursts through the flaps covering the drop ship entrance. He’s sweaty from working on some shacks but his eyes are wide open with panic. Clarke swiftly gets to her feet and puts a hand on her gun.

“Outside.” Wick pants. “Grounders coming to the gates. Bellamy thinks they’re friendly but Miller says he counts two dozen.”

It doesn’t matter if they’re friendly with those numbers. Clarke rushes outside with Wick and to the nearest of Bellamy’s watchtowers (which for now are slightly raised platforms letting them see over the walls). “Where’s Miller?” she asks.

Wick points up, to the trees, where Miller sits with a rifle. He peers down at them looking relieved to see Clarke. “They’re coming in fast. At least seven on horseback.”

“Can you see anything else?” Clarke hopes for a banner, a sign, anything that will tell her that the riders coming aren’t here to attack her village. 

Miller squints through his scope. 

A horn blasts, echoing through the trees and drawing Clarke to the gate. Miller shouts out. “Stand down! Stand down!”

Bellamy, who points his gun at the door, lowers it at Miller’s request. 

Clarke’s palms sweat as she comes to stand beside Bellamy and Octavia. “Open the gate.” Clarke orders.

It’s pulled back quickly just in time for Clarke to see the flurry of horses and whip of Lexa’s red sash and black cape in the wind. She’s followed by twenty strong, fewer horses, all moving towards her gate at a rapid pace. 

Octavia rushes out to meet Lexa, steadying her horse as she dismounts. Lexa doesn’t exchange pleasantries with anyone, choosing to march straight up to Clarke like no time has passed since their last meeting. Like no bitterness still lingers in Clarke’s head. 

She thinks about calling Lexa the Commander but not even Clarke can bring herself to do it. “Lexa, what’s going on?”

Lexa’s chest heaves from spurring her horse on. There’s a layer of sweat making her skin shine and Clarke notices all this and more while Lexa faces her. “I came as soon as I got word.”

“Word?” Clarke says. 

“It was you that radioed Polis with news of one of your men killed in the woods?” Lexa asks her to confirm.

“Yes,” Clarke replies. “I tried to speak with you but I couldn’t get through.”

Lexa catches her breath, just as Clarke begins to lose hers. “Describe him to me.”

Clarke scrambles for details to take her mind of the sudden increased thudding in her chest. The adrenaline of thinking she was about to fight is continued by Lexa’s unexpected appearance. A rippling anger begins to rise that isn’t helped by the amount she’s drank. “His body was burnt. Someone took a chunk out of the back of his thigh. I couldn’t tell with what but whatever it was- he bled out before anyone could save him.”

By now the rest of Lexa’s party has dismounted and stand waiting her orders. 

“He was the only one?” Lexa questions. 

Clarke grits her teeth. “That we know of.”

The story isn’t the same on her side, Clarke realizes. 

“Seven in the last three weeks.” Lexa states. The rest of the camp falls silent while they talk. “They dishonor my warriors with fire.”

Not giving Lexa’s people a chance to bless their dead or light their own pyre. No one to send them off. 

There’s something else in Lexa’s anger though. “What do you know?”

Lexa doesn’t reveal anything but looks around at their audience. Clarke can read her intentions but it doesn’t mean she’s thrilled about it. The last time they were together Clarke was overwhelmed. She couldn’t name the amount of things she felt. The traces of which are still affecting her but seeing Lexa now, like nothing is different, makes her angry. 

“Leave your men outside.” Clarke takes liberties and orders. 

Bellamy interjects, seeing the tension. “Clarke-” He may not trust the Grounders like she does, but he knows when not to test things. Clarke knows what she’s doing.

“Octavia, with me.” Clarke holds Lexa’s gaze until she has to break it. She leads Lexa and Octavia to the drop ship and to the second floor. Only when the hatch door is closed does Clarke feel free to speak. 

“What did you ride here to tell me?”

“Seven of my men in three weeks. All warriors. All killed in the same way.” 

“And other villages?”

Lexa nods. “More. My scouts report missing warriors in several other villages all within the last two months.”

Since she left the Ark. 

“Could it be Mountain Men?” Octavia offers up. “We don’t know how many survived or how many were treated in the end.”

“No one left the Mountain.” Lexa’s voice is penetrating and to the point. No one who tried, survived. Those that are still there have been neutralized. Tamed and disarmed. They have made sure of that.

“You know.” Clarke says softly. Lexa wouldn’t ride the distance from Polis to NavYard if she wasn’t sure. The journey means more than what could have been said over a radio call. 

Lexa’s back straightens and she places a hand on her sword. “I leave in the morning to ride north. She knows better than force my hand and think I will sit idly by because we are at peace.”

Clarke’s mouth dries. “She?”

Lexa nods. 

Clarke takes a step forward. “What’s north?”

Octavia’s voice becomes toneless. “The Ice Nation.”

“The--” Clarke chokes on her words. There’s a part of her that wants to trust Lexa’s judgment. That wants to trust that she’s investigated every possible avenue and this is the most likely solution. 

But she knows Lexa’s history with the Ice Nation, what they did to--

Clarke doesn’t even feel appropriate thinking about what happened. How is she supposed to know whether this is truly the cause? She couldn’t even properly ascertain a mode of death with Lee. It’s safe to assume that if one body had the wound removed, all of them did. 

“You are angry with me.” Lexa probes cautiously. 

“How observant of you.” Clarke pressed her fingers into the back of her neck, wishing that she could ease the tension there. Wishing that Lexa wasn’t about to drag this up. “Are these the same observational skills that are telling you to go and provoke one of the heads of your clans?”

Clarke pulls at her hair. “What if you’re wrong Lexa? What if you march up there and it’s not her and you end up starting another war?”

“I do not go with force in mind.” Lexa replies. “We will meet and a message will be delivered just as it was once delivered to you.”

Blood must have blood.

“She will answer for the lives she has taken with equal number or I will be forced to act.”

Lexa’s hand is curled tightly around the hilt of her sword. She squeezes it every time she mentions the Ice Queen. 

“Lexa, this isn’t a good idea.” Clarke argues. “What proof do you have? What makes you think it’s her?”

“I have seen this before.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t.” Clarke approaches. “And I think we need to have a better plan before you think about confronting her.”

“I want you to come with me.” Lexa starts to move towards Clarke but stops well short. A mixture of regret and yearning and determination crosses her face all in the same moment. 

Clarke turns her back to Lexa. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She leans over the table, laying her eyes on maps and bits of scrap metal that Wick has left laying around.

Lexa pays no mind to Octavia. “I never intended for you to wake up alone, Clarke.”

Clarke lets her hands fall from the table. Her palms slap against the top of her thighs. “Octavia, you can go.”

Suddenly this is all a bit more interesting now that the seriousness has faded into a deeply personal matter. Octavia shifts her weight and crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t know,” She points between them. “I’m a little concerned about your safety. If I leave you two alone-”

“Octavia, now.” Clarke would rather still be talking about their fallen dead.

Octavia throws her hands up and makes for the hatch. She tosses a sarcastic ‘play nice’ before she climbs down the ladder and closes it behind her. 

“Why is it, whenever I feel like we’re getting close to something-” Clarke crosses her arms. “-I end up being disappointed.”

Without Octavia standing there no topic is out of bounds. Even the casual way Lexa brings up their night together has Clarke rattled. As if Clarke should have expected that something would come up.

The end result is the same. Clarke wondering why she’s alone. 

“I mean what I say.” Lexa repeats. “I never intended for you to wake up without me.”

She says ‘without me’ and Clarke takes a deep breath.

“Whatever your intentions,” Clarke says. “I’d rather not talk about this right now.”

“The conversation about our trip to the Ice Nation is important.” Lexa presses. “But we will get nowhere if you refuse to look at me.”

Clarke looks at her spitefully. “And what makes you think anything you say will change my decision.” She turns her back on her. 

“Because I know you.” Lexa circles to the other side of the table, forcing Clarke to keep glancing up at her. “And your commitment to reason and logic outweighs whatever bitterness you hold towards me right now.”

“Fine.” Clarke can talk circles with the best of them but Lexa won’t move them forward if Clarke doesn’t stop. “Then why?”

“Explain to me why, after we slept together, I woke up alone.” Clarke forces herself to keep her arms by her side.

Clarke presses her fingers into her palms and watches Lexa’s jaw twitch. “Or was that something I should have expected before I started taking my clothes off?”

Lexa’s eyes rake down her body and Clarke should feel like she has the upper hand but her gaze returns to Clarke’s face. Controlled again. Her back straightens and Clarke mimics the action. “No. You shouldn’t have.”

Clarke isn’t sure what she wants Lexa to say. 

That she was overwhelmed in the morning. That waking up next to her hurt her in some way and she had to force herself away. That the night was everything that she wanted since the battle for Mount Weather but that Clarke was something she could only stand in doses. 

Or that Lexa feared the closeness. That she woke up before the sun and felt the rise and fall of Clarke’s breathing and couldn’t hold her. Like she would crush the life out of the moment. Like Lexa wanted her too much. 

Clarke’s guesses are telling in her own mind. Her own thoughts. She has her own realities to face up to. What if she’d woken up first. Seen a glimpse of what she’d seen the morning after the battle. With Lexa’s face at peace after an undisturbed, but painful, night. Tracing her back with her hand, avoiding the wounds. Trembling with how gentle she was trying to be. 

Clarke feels robbed of a better memory.

“Not what you expected then?” Clarke asks. 

Lexa softens suddenly. Her eyes lose their edge and Clarke knows that she’s remembering everything. For a second she remembers how Lexa looked when her hand traced under her calf to the back of her thigh, when she’d pressed her lips underneath Lexa’s jaw and felt Lexa’s body arching upwards, needing. 

And then her lips are parted, pausing. “No.” Lexa’s stare consumes her. “You were more.”

Clarke comes to her this time. The table ceases to be a barrier and Clarke stands to Lexa’s left. Lexa doesn’t lean, doesn’t show anything on her face that this change is welcomed. But Clarke knows it is. 

Every word becomes a weapon against Lexa’s indifference. “If you care about me-” Clarke murmurs. 

Lexa looks up at the ceiling, biting on her bottom lip in such a display of lost composure that Clarke hesitates. Only when Lexa looks down, only when she stops clenching her fists and her jaw clenches again, does Clarke find the words. 

“-let me in.”

“I need you.” The words are raw and Clarke doesn’t doubt that Lexa means them so fiercely that it hurts. “But I can’t.”

Clarke steps back and Lexa reacts like Clarke is falling. Reaching out quickly and grabbing whatever she can hold onto. The urgency disappears from her eyes when her hand wraps around Clarke’s wrist. She doesn’t move to pull her any closer. 

“Not yet.”

When Lexa doesn’t pull, Clarke erases the distance. Her boot steps purposefully, between Lexa’s feet, until there’s nothing between them. Lexa releases her grip just as Clarke asserts her own, touching Lexa’s covered elbow. 

The effect Clarke has on her is evident. If Clarke didn’t already know that being close to Lexa destroyed all of her self-control, watching as Lexa struggles to keep still under Clarke’s contemplation. Her green eyes never wander further from Clarke’s lips. 

“If you’re not ready.” Clarke says clearly. “Then I’ll respect that.” 

And then she pulls away.

Lexa sounds breathless when Clarke walks towards the hatch, twisting the lock and pulling it upwards. “Where are you going?”

“I’m calling my friends in.” Clarke states. “If you want me to go to the Ice Nation, if you’re gearing up to fight, then I need to talk to my people.”

Clarke sits next to Raven after Bellamy helps her up the ladder, with minimal protesting, and Octavia looks between Lexa and Clarke like she’s expecting them to spill everything that happened in her absence. Instead Clarke catches everyone up on all of the information Lexa’s given her. 

Bellamy is the first to break the silence. “So what’s the plan?” 

Raven is tapping her good foot impatiently. Clarke wants to put a hand on her back or her knee, anything to calm her. 

Lexa steps in. “We believe the Ice Nation is killing our people.” 

Clarke nods. “I’m going with her.”

To Bellamy’s confused look, Octavia sighs. “They’re going to the Ice Nation to confront the Queen. Pay attention.”

“Are you suicidal?” Raven’s voice is loud. “I thought the whole idea of peace meant not running headfirst into the first battle you find. Clarke, you can’t be serious-”

“We’re not going to fight.” Clarke assures Raven. “But we can’t just ignore what’s happening here. Our people are being killed and if this is really a show of force from the Ice Nation then we can’t stand by.”

“The coalition of my people is too important to go looking for a fight. But if my suspicions are correct she will pay.” Lexa leaves no room for argument. “I will not see my people slaughtered.”

There’s no way to object to her words. There’s more behind them. History that Lexa isn’t touching on and Clarke holds her tongue. Their agreement on the matter is new after all and Clarke knows that now is not the time to ask whether Lexa’s rationale for this journey stems from her past.

Clarke never did ask how the Ice Nation became a part of the plans for Lexa’s coalition. It’s not the time for that though. Not in front of Bellamy, Raven, and Octavia. Not when she’s not certain what the journey ahead holds for them. 

“It will take our party a few weeks. We must leave soon to avoid worsening conditions.” 

“A few weeks?” Raven repeats. “Where the hell are you going?”

Clarke ignores the outbreak of small talk expressing concerns and looks at Lexa. A few weeks on the road with nothing but tension and time. Clarke places a hand on Raven’s knee to alleviate her concern. They need to leave now.

Into the cold. 

There is nothing in her pack or on her body that isn’t there for a reason. 

Even though she’s packed quickly out of necessity, it’s all deliberate. No amount of Bellamy hovering over her shoulder micromanaging or Raven snarking absently in the corner could slow her down. 

Monty’s the only one who’s even remotely helpful by supplying them with packs of dried and easily portable food. In the absence of easy hunting they’ll be able to survive on the basics. 

Octavia tries to join their party up until the point where Clarke convinces her that she’s needed at home. That she doesn’t trust anyone but Octavia to keep everyone safe in her absence. Octavia accepts her role with a ducked head and a mumbled ‘whatever, chief’. 

But as they ride off she can hear Octavia barking orders and Clarke’s sure she’s left her people in competent hands. 

She looks next to her, to Lexa riding tall and strong on her horse, and wonders if she made such a good decision in the person she’s left with. They’ve reached some sort of detente over everything that’s come between them. Clarke’s smart enough to know that weeks spent together is enough time to rip open old wounds. 

Though whatever is killing their people is more important than anything personal growing between them and if Lexa is convinced it’s the Ice Nation, then that’s where they’ll go. 

*

No amount of time spent on Earth prepares her for the cold. Clarke has felt cold. She was locked in a cell in space for over a year and experienced power failure and the freeze that follows. She knows what it is to try and warm herself through exercise and rubbing her hands over her sides. 

But this is paralyzing. 

Lexa kneels next to her holding another pelt with deep concern in her eyes for the way she shivers still. They are less than three days into their journey and their progress is stalled thanks to a violent change in weather conditions. “The storm will not last much longer.”

The snow is restless. At first Clarke stared up at the sky, with wide eyes and quiet joy that she hasn’t felt since that first day on the ground. This is something new. Snowflakes and the novelty of seeing footprints on the first fresh layer. 

It confused her then when Lexa ordered a camp to be set up and for shelter to be constructed for the horses. They would go no further tonight.

It becomes clear why when the winds whip up and the snow doesn’t stop. 

Clarke curls into herself on her bed roll. Knees drawn close to her chest, as close as she can with the amount of layers she’s wearing now. Raven had pushed another jacket into her arms as they’d left camp but Clarke still feels the cold creeping into her skin.

“Mor faya.” Lexa commands. 

They’re not alone. They gave up on separate tents when the storm became too harsh to stand but there are drapes to divide the tent. The more bodies they have, the warmer it is. Even so, Lexa orders them to scrape a hole in the ground to fill with sticks, to build fire. 

The fire never lasts long into the night without being tended so they rely on layers and furs and hoping the storm stops. 

Clarke’s first experience with snow is not leaving her with a desire for more. 

Flames flicker to life and give them something. Clarke moans as her legs ache for heat. Lexa pushes the pelt she has underneath Clarke’s head. 

Lexa has her own furs. Leather boots and furs, borrowed thermal clothing from the Ark stores, and her knife on her hip. Her hair is hidden underneath her shawl. When they venture out into the snow she has it wrapped around her face, covering all but her eyes. 

“This will be your harshest winter.” Lexa murmurs. “We should move you closer to the fire.”

“Can’t.” Clarke’s teeth chatter. “It hurts when I move.”

“Movement is good.” Lexa insists. “You will freeze if you do not get closer.”

Clarke isn’t in control of the frustrated whimper she lets out or the stupid tears that come because the cold is too much. 

“Clarke,” Lexa places a heavy hand on Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke wants to stubbornly demand Lexa’s secret. They are all cold, all trying to battle the stiffness but Lexa wears it differently. Lexa is fighting it. 

They haven’t spoken much on their journey, both focusing on the direction they’re going in and the landscape, but Clarke knows that the silence won’t hold. As much as it’s suiting them.

“I just need a minute.” Clarke begs off.

Lexa refuses her that and takes hold of her hand, bringing it from out of the covers. Clarke winces at the exposure. “We will move you slowly. It will hurt.” Lexa explains it carefully to her. “But you will warm up faster this way.”

There’s no fight in her and all Clarke can do is keep her pained responses to a minimum. 

It’s Lexa and a couple of seconds that are following their mentors that help to move her. Clarke feels her feet dragging and she has to stop them a few times before they get her to where Lexa wants. Instantly the closeness of the fire floods through her. The cold nips against her still but it’s easier to block it out when she returns to her fetal position and buries herself under a small mountain of blankets. 

Clarke’s body starts to relax and sleep begins to call more clearly. Lexa sits to the other side of the side, her hands trapped between her thighs (for warmth, Clarke drowsily convinces herself. Because distinction is important at this moment in time), watching Clarke drift slowly to sleep. 

This has happened before, Clarke thinks. 

In the morning, Clarke gazes over the burnt out fire and memorizes the curve of Lexa’s body. 

*

The second night of the storm slows their march considerably. The third relents and gives them false hope. The morning of the fourth day of snow and their seventh day of travel, gives them a small break which Lexa takes advantage of. Clarke takes the time to adjust her gear again, wrapping her hands tightly in leather gloves and making use of all the clothes that Raven and Octavia had found for her. When she rides on the back of her horse, she has a shawl covering her mouth and nose, much like Lexa and the rest of the party. It protects her from the worst of the cold. 

But the calm of the morning doesn’t last and the snowstorm kicks up again after they cross a frozen creek. They barely manage to refill their water supplies before the snow starts again. 

Lexa is quicker the second time around and her warriors take care of shelter for the horses, building their tent with cover from nearby trees and digging a bigger pit for the fire. 

Clarke doesn’t make the same mistake as she had the first time and places herself in front of the fire with most of those inside the tent. They managed to build up two tents tonight, giving them all more breathing room.

Her skin feels like a bunch of tiny little pins are pricking at the surface and she moves ever closer to the fire. Clarke knows better than to assume she’s hurt but she can’t think about facing nights like this for the remainder of their journey.

Lexa changes the schedule. They spend the light of the day walking until Lexa decides it’s too much to go on for the rest of the day. Sometimes night hasn’t even fallen when they’re settling for the night. The sun still shines as Clarke tries to find warmth and sleep. 

Every night it is harder to find. 

She’s resorted to other measures that are hard to ask for but easier to fall into. Necessity. Survival. 

The sound of Lexa’s bedroll falling against the hard snow packed floor behind Clarke. Clarke strains to look behind her, to see Lexa taking off her gloves and wrapping her shawl around herself better. She looks back at the fire when Lexa kneels, hesitating before Clarke nods, and eventually lies down behind her. 

The eyes of her warriors are elsewhere, they know to be, when Lexa lifts the edge of Clarke’s covers and slips underneath. 

Clarke lets a small whimper as a chill comes in but Lexa soothes it. Her body is warm and pressing against her back. Clarke shivers so suddenly that Lexa has to still her with an arm around her waist. 

“Breathe.” Lexa orders. “You will warm up.”

They’re talking more now. Just little bits here and there. Conversations about how Polis looks and things to be done at NavYard. It’s progress. But at night things are sped up out of necessity. 

Her hands are fire and Clarke grabs onto the fingers that brush against her stomach. “How can you stand this?”

Lexa stiffens behind her. “It is not a trip I make often.”

Clarke holds Lexa’s hand tighter. “Distract me.”

“What?”

“Talk to me.” Clarke saves herself. “About anything. I don’t care. Just take my mind off this fucking storm.”

A few minutes pass and Clarke is giving up on Lexa saying anything when she states, softly spoken: “You fell from the sky in that ship. I never asked, how?”

It’s strange to think that in all of their conversations, this hasn’t come up. It was just taken at face value that they landed and disturbed Lexa’s land. That their people followed them when the time was right. That it was always planned.

Clarke knows that talking will help her ignore the cold. “We were launched down.” Lexa knows a little about the conditions of the Ark from what she’s been told. But this is the first time Clarke is admitting to some things. 

“My friends and I were prisoners on the Ark. All under eighteen and expendable.” 

“Prisoners?” Lexa asks.

Clarke runs her through it all drawing on details that bring the story to life. Her father’s watch being passed to her from his hand to hers. The drawings in her cell, dreaming of greens and blues that she could see out of the window in space. That first look at Wells when she opened her eyes strapped into the drop ship. The anger that followed. 

Clarke describes the feeling of the drop ship entering the atmosphere of the Earth. Lexa listens to her explanation as Clarke remembers how parts of the ship were ripped off, glosses over Finn’s boyish smile, how two people died, how dizzy everything felt-

“Was there pain?” Lexa asks. They’ve shifted now, Clarke lying on her back with Lexa on her side. Clarke hasn’t let go of her hand. 

“What?” Clarke looks at her for a second. The words tickle against her chest and she can’t tell why.

“When you fell?” 

Another time, another life, Clarke hears the words differently and her grin stretches over her face so quickly that Lexa looks alarmed at how bright she gets. “Oh my god.”

She starts laughing with no explanation and it wears down Lexa’s stoicism just enough for her to join in with a laugh of her own. It’s light and a far cry from the tone Clarke expects. It spurs her on, giggling until a few of Lexa’s people are staring and it makes Clarke wonder if anyone has ever seen Lexa like this. Let loose, smiling-

Happy.

Clarke’s breath hitches and the laughter becomes one. Lexa’s dies out and is replaced with a breathless expression. “What?” Clarke’s voice is hoarse. 

Lexa’s hand on her stomach doesn’t move but Clarke can tell she wants it to. To draw her closer under the covers, to rub in circles, offer some tactile comfort to offset how she looks at Clarke. 

Lexa gazes at her like she’s seen her people gaze at the stars, like she’d done so at the first fall of snow, at the radiation soaked plants lighting in the night and at Octavia’s butterfly fields. 

Like she’s having a hard time looking at something so beautiful. 

Her eyes trace down from her hairline, to her jaw and chin, flickering up to her lips and pausing. Remembering. 

Clarke brushes her fingers over Lexa’s knuckles. Marveling at the little bumps, healed scars, and injuries. There’s a scar that she’s seen before, from the side of her wrist to halfway down of her forearm that Clarke has touched before. It always gets Lexa’s attention. 

Lexa wears the effects of Clarke’s reaction. Lexa can blame the heat on the fire but not the way she has to clear her throat and glance away while Clarke, in turn, observes her.

Flushing pink, not red, with skin clear of ash and paint. Clarke watched her take it off earlier. Her hair is tied back even more than it has been, braided and pulled to keep it settled when riding in her shawl. There’s need in the very core of Clarke to see Lexa with her hair down. The fire crackles in Lexa’s eyes. 

Clarke runs her finger over the scar again until the sounds of the storm settle and Clarke feels warm enough to turn on her side again. The silent invitation is received and Lexa, slowly, wraps her arm around Clarke’s stomach once again, bringing them close enough for Clarke to feel Lexa’s forehead pressing against her neck.

The night is easier to endure. 

*

The nights bleed into the days and everything becomes routine. Clarke masters her layers and riding while keeping her head ducked. She learns how to eat on horseback and how strong her steed is. Clarke recognizes Grounders by their posture and knows who is the fastest to assemble their camp.

Clarke is thankful for fire and food and getting through another day.

Every night her mind opens and drowns out the day. 

She can’t see the stars through the tent but Ryder distracts her well enough by explaining the constellations and how they use them to navigate in the dark. In turn she tells him of the view from the sky. The Earth in all of it’s glory and how nothing really compares to being on the ground. 

Clarke tells stories about her life up there and they draw a small crowd of interested warriors around the fire. Lexa can hear her well enough though she often pretends not to be listening until they’re pressed together and suddenly Clarke is answering Lexa’s curious whispers asking why she hadn’t swam before coming to Earth-

(“Everything was rationed. Water was a luxury that we couldn’t afford to waste-”)

-how she became imprisoned on the Ark-

(“He was going to warn everyone- I guess Kane or Jaha or whoever wanted to make sure whatever I knew was kept a secret.”)

-to those first few days on the ground.

Clarke indulges herself when she talks about the bright greens and the blue of the sky. Everything in vivid colors that blew away what she’d grown up with. Cool air and sweet smelling flowers. The sound of water rushing over rocks. That first outburst of joy that Octavia had pierced the air with.

In turn the Grounders spin their own tales. The cities of their lands and the people. The names of oceans and deserts. Their allies and their enemies. Clarke learns a lot about how they grew up, what they were taught and how they were trained. She begins to relate Octavia’s experiences to them and watches as their faces light up at the mention of Indra’s name. A fearsome warrior, a respected chief, and Lexa’s most trusted general. 

Clarke looks forward to trading stories and they wear themselves out late into the night until they’re all ordered to sleep. Then Clarke whispers only to Lexa. 

Lexa, who is propped up on her side, eyes heavy and focused on her face as she finishes talking. Clarke can only blame so much on the fire when Lexa’s thumb comes up, across her face, to a lighter patch of skin just above her left eye.

Lexa, who knows the difference between scars old and new, looks curious. “How did you get this?”

Clarke didn’t know her then. But her face is a patchwork of cuts and scrapes that she’s gained since coming to Earth. The one Lexa brushes over is notable for it’s visibility and it’s deliverance. 

“That-” Lexa’s hand stills over her skin. “-was from Anya.”

Lexa’s hand withdraws. Clarke keeps eye contact. “She was the one who helped me escape Mount Weather using the Reaper tunnels. She found a way out.” She chooses her words, describing the opening of the dam and the drop below it. “-She didn’t hesitate.”

Lexa breaks out into an unapologetic smile. “Anya was fearless.”

Clarke can’t help but agree. “I jumped because she jumped. I couldn’t let them take me back. But-” The sound of water rushes around her ears again and Clarke takes a breath just to make sure she’s not drowning. “-I blacked out from the impact. When I came to- Anya had dragged me onto the shore-”

Coughing and spluttering the water from her lungs. Despite it, Clarke smiles through her story. “I woke up and I guess she’d had enough of me talking because the next thing I knew she’d picked up this rock out of the riverbed and-” Clarke mimics the roundhouse blow with her arm. “-split the skin right open.”

Lexa looks torn between looking concerned and amused at Clarke’s retelling. 

Clarke gives her an encouraging smile. “It’s funnier in hindsight.” 

“I can imagine.” Lexa comments. “And after?”

Clarke goes on. “And after she tied me up and dragged me through the woods trying to find you, I guess.” Clarke quietens slightly. 

The version goes like this: they escape Mount Weather, Anya reluctantly goes along with her talking until she snaps and the battle for leadership takes place. 

Clarke knows nothing will be gained out of the truth, not after everything, but she can’t stop the words coming out of her mouth.

“She fought me every step of the way.” Clarke is whispering now. This conversation is just for them. 

“I would not expect any less.” Lexa’s face softens at the tale of her mentor.

Clarke shifts slightly and braves the cool air by pulling out her left arm and rolling up her sleeve. “Just on the elbow-” She bares another scar to her. “When I went back to NavYard to find direction- we fought.”

Lexa listens aptly to her exaggerations of their fight. In her head, Clarke knows that Anya was at a disadvantage with the sedative but she adds a flourish to her own skills for Lexa’s entertainment. She has her hooked by the time story-Clarke has Anya beaten. 

“This is a fight I wish I had seen.” Lexa chuckles. “Anya would not have let you live long enough to speak it.”

Clarke’s laughter is stilted. “We made it to my people.” Clarke feels drowsy under Lexa’s attention. “The Ark was just there in all it’s bits and pieces. A crash site full of anxious and shocked inhabitants-” She’s trying to justify it. She’s trying so hard.

“I asked for a truce. To stand together to face the Mountain Men and to be able to live together in peace.” Clarke remembers her first meeting with Anya and the promises that Clarke couldn’t make. “And she told me that you used to be her second and that she would request an audience with you.”

“Our meeting could have been under different circumstances.” Lexa muses. 

“We shook on it.” Clarke murmurs. 

Lexa nods and her emotions flood her eyes. She pauses before asking Clarke. “How did she die?”

Clarke becomes steel. She lets the waver in her voice, the low and brittle words, say everything. “I’m sorry.”

Lexa understands before Clarke tells her. She’s perceptive and calm when Clarke describes her own screaming as the gun shot came out of nowhere and took Anya down. Lexa’s jaw clenches as Clarke explains that Anya was weakened by their journey and her own guilty part in it all. That she’d pressed as hard as she could to stem the bleeding- that once they’d been met by the Ark guards Clarke had screamed and raged at them, for someone to save Anya and fix the mess they’d made. 

Clarke stares at Lexa’s wrist because looking at her face is hard. “Before they sedated me I remember yelling, just yelling-” She admits in a faraway voice. “-why didn’t they shoot me instead?”

Seeing Anya fall after everything, after the long miles and the torture endured in the Mountain had knocked everything out of her. All the things Clarke held close to her chest, hoping that they’d keep her together, fell like building blocks. In that moment she was defeated, her chance at peace came crashing down and everything was lost. 

“They thought we were threats.” Clarke says. She looks at Lexa, eyes pleading and tired. “I’m sorry.”

Lexa nods slowly. Her mouth is pressed shut like she’s keeping everything back because the moment one word comes out, the rest will follow. There’s anger pent up between her eyes and Clarke takes a risk by reaching out to hold the hand that Lexa draped in the space between them.

Clarke rubs her thumb over cracked knuckles and for several minutes they lay in silence while Lexa gets her breathing, the bubbling explosion in her chest, under control. The rest of their camp remains oblivious to Clarke’s confession and the reaction it provoked. 

Clarke is so lost in the hypnotic motion of touching Lexa’s hand that she almost misses the sag in Lexa’s shoulders, the slow release of breath and Lexa crumbling on her stomach. Clarke has to let go of her hand as Lexa switches positions but she keeps looking at her. After a while Lexa looks away and turns on her side, away from Clarke.

This should feel like rejection. This should feel like she’s fucked everything up. This should mean that she’s made the distance wider. 

Instead Clarke reads her better, knows Lexa better, and pays no attention to who might be watching when she shuffles over with her covers and wraps her arms around Lexa’s waist. 

It’s small. 

It’s barely there, but holding her closely like this Clarke is able to feel Lexa shaking. 

Clarke seeks her hand and laces their fingers together. She can say the words and apologize for everything a thousand times over. 

But Lexa must ride it out alone.

This is the only thing Clarke can offer now.

Strength, when all seems lost.

This is the longest night.

*

This goes on for another few days or more. Clarke gets used to waking up in a full tent and passing around boiled water to fill up canteens. To Lexa creating distance between them in the morning after sleeping so close to her. To going through the motions of traveling. 

The snow storms lessen and the path becomes easier to tread. 

The scouts of their party identify the boundary and then everyone has their hands on their swords. Clarke holds her gun in her lap as she rides. They’re officially in Ice Nation territory.

Surrounded by snowcapped trees and quiet. There are no animal sounds or voices of near villages. Every step they take is loud and Lexa is rightfully wary as they move on. 

They’re about a mile or more away from where the scouts believe the city of Ottawa, the capital of the Ice Nation territory, lies when Lexa pulls them all to a stop.

Lexa sits straighter on her horse and bellows out in a confident yet enraged tone. “Taim yu dula daun op, taim yu na wan op.” 

Lexa’s threat to kill makes no sense for several tense seconds. 

Suddenly the frozen rocks that Clarke’s been judging their distance by become people. Their camouflage reveals three broad shouldered men toting swords and axes. Clarke isn’t fully threatened until Ryder tells her to be still. “They have archers in the trees.”

She doesn’t look, but trusts that they’re surrounded. 

They have their weapons aimed and Clarke can only hold onto the reins of her horse until Lexa meets their risky insult. “Chil yu daun.” She demands. Stand down.

Her voice, like a beacon, has them lowering their weapons. As if they didn’t realize who she was. As if they weren’t sworn to bow to her. Lexa gives them only a moment to remind themselves. The three Ice Nation guards make their signals and apologies. Even here, Clarke watches the power that Lexa exudes.

Only when their weapons are lowered and their archers are visible does Lexa tilt her head up. “Teik oso gon heda kom Azgeda.”

“Sha, Heda.” The closest, and largest of the men, is swamped in frost bitten furs but Clarke can just about see the defiant stare behind his affirmation. As they’re led further into the wilderness, towards the sounds of the city, she holds onto her gun.

*

Clarke tries not to allow too much awe to creep onto her face as she takes in the buildings of the Ice Nation. It’s nothing like Polis, and certainly not near as grand, but Clarke can see how this was once a thriving nation all its own. 

The structures are built more to withstand the elements than anything she’s seen down south. Sturdy materials that seem to shrug off the near constant snow. The Ice Nation warriors leading them to their Queen don’t speak directly to them but only amongst each other. 

She notices a slight, unfamiliar accent in the way that they speak Trigedasleng and files that information into the back of her mind. 

Lexa rides next to her and pulls her horse so they are riding as close as is safe. She keeps her head straight forward and her back rigidly straight. “She will ask you to bow to her.”

Clarke barely registers that Lexa’s speaking to her because her voice is so soft and stilted. But she hears the words. 

“You do not bow to her.” Lexa continues. “She will try to play mind games with us but she is not in charge.” Lexa’s voice is filled with fire that Clarke recognizes from chanting that blood must have blood. She’s not saying those exact words but her intentions are clear. Lexa clenches her jaw and tilts her head ever so slightly upward. “Stedaunon don gon we en kikon ste enti.”

The dead are gone and the living are hungry. 

Lexa taps her horse on the side and moves slightly ahead of Clarke. Their conversation, if it could even be called that, is over. And so, apparently, is civility. 

At once Clarke yearns for the gentle nights huddled in front of the fire, learning each other and keeping each other warm. Because this Lexa? The one with her chin held high in defiance and a latent desire for blood boiling just beneath the surface. 

Clarke’s not sure she can rein that in if things get out of control. 

They reach the front of the largest building Clarke’s seen thus far. It’s not fair to call it a palace but it looks something like the old government buildings Clarke used to read about. A tall spire sticks out from the middle of the otherwise flat structure. 

It’s gorgeous but Clarke keeps her awe under wraps. It’ll do nothing for Lexa’s mood to see her admiring anything about the Ice Nation. 

Lexa dismounts from her horse first and the rest of them follow. After an initial reluctant standoff between Lexa and the warriors, they take the horses and hitch them to a post in front of the building. With a hand already on the hilt of her sword, Lexa waits for the doors to open. 

Clarke walks up next to her with a subtle brush of her body against Lexa’s. Anything to try and calm the storm brewing within her. They came to the Ice Nation for an inquiry, not an execution. Lexa’s posture indicates that somewhere along the way she forgot the distinction. 

The doors are pushed open and they’re led down a long, straight hallway. The guard stops in front of a set of double doors and asks them to disarm. 

“No.” Lexa grits out through clenched teeth. The guard goes to ask again but before he can even get the words out Lexa is pulling her sword up from the hilt. 

Clarke’s frozen in the moment. Her body is screaming for her to burst forward and put a hand on Lexa’s sword, to stop her. But her brain tells her to let this play out. To trust Lexa. 

The guard backs done. Clarke can breathe again. He cedes absolute control to the Commander of the clans over the orders of his own leader and pushes the double doors open. 

“Heda.” A sardonic voice booms out from an improvised throne at the head of the large room. She takes a glance over in Clarke’s direction and a smirk forms on her face. “Disha hukop ste get ai daun.” She speaks in the same accented Trigedasleng as her warriors but with far more sarcasm. 

There’s a sword in her hand that Clarke guesses is more for decoration than anything. Her face is framed by light brown hair and there are hardly any visible marks of war on her features. Even her eyes are bright as she taunts Lexa. It’s easy to see that this is kind of a game. A novelty to see them all standing in her halls and not something that, if it goes wrong, could lead to war. 

Lexa doesn’t reflect any of that levity. Her features are schooled with a serious expression, flicking between anger and impatience. “You dare to speak to me like this.” Lexa bites out. “You’ll do well to remember your place.”

“And you’ll do well to bow to a Queen.” She looks once more at Clarke and Clarke forces herself not to shrink underneath her icy stare. “All of you.”

“Heda kom Skaikru,” Lexa glances over in Clarke’s direction and then back to the Queen. “does not bow. Neither will I.”

“Heda kom Skaikru.” The Ice Queen tilts her head, studying Clarke properly. “I wasn’t aware. Please.” She drags out her pause. “Forgive me. I have only heard the stories.”

“Pleni-” Lexa cuts her off. 

Clarke is unaccustomed to Lexa having to actually assert her power. But the Ice Queen refuses to back down. “You’re the one who’s honored us with your presence, Heda.” The Queen’s voice drips with condescension. “So honor us.”

Lexa goes straight to the point. Clarke can tell in the rigidness of her posture that she’s reaching her breaking point. And personally, she doesn’t want to see what happens if she goes past it. “Our people are being killed by you.”

The Ice Queen’s grin curls as her hand touches the hilt of her sword. “That’s old news, isn’t it.” 

A flash of pain briefly flits across Lexa’s face but it’s quickly hidden away. “Where are your people crossing the boundary?”

Not quickly enough. 

“There are no boundaries in my nation and no people have crossed them.” The Ice Queen returns Lexa’s frustrated questions with bored replies. 

“Spicha.” Lexa snarls.

The Ice Queen stiffens and looks to rise and Clarke steps in front of Lexa. Putting her body between Lexa and the Ice Queen’s line of sight.

“We just want to know the truth.” Clarke interjects. “People are dying. Is it possible your people are doing this without your consent?”

“Nothing happens without my consent.”

Lexa lunges past Clarke. There’s an inhuman growl that rips from her throat and Clarke doesn’t insult her by holding Lexa back. 

Every step is a bad idea. Lexa forgets her sword, she forgets all concept of talking and the reasons why they’re there and all she sees is red. Clarke wants to step after her but Lexa ascends the two steps towards the throne with speed that not even the Ice Queen’s closest guards can disturb.

And then Lexa’s knife is pressing against the Ice Queen’s neck.

There’s a whirlwind of commotion as the Ice Queen’s eyes widen in shock and her guards rush and everything starts to collapse in on them. Clarke is frozen suddenly as one of the Azgeda draws his sword and advances.

“Stand down!” Lexa throws the command over her shoulder and out of shock, more than compliance, the Azgeda stops.

The rest of the Ice Queen’s guard obeys and that’s when the playful confidence leaves the Ice Queen’s eyes. “Guar-”

Lexa pushes the blade until it breaks skin. “You forget your place.” She hisses the words out. “These men- these people- are my people before they are yours.”

Lexa presses harder until the Ice Queen closes her eyes. “I could take off your head.” Lexa’s voice drops to a whisper. “It would be more than you deserve.”

Clarke imagines that whatever life the Ice Queen has led until now is flashing before her eyes. Lexa pulls back and the cut is long and bleeding. The Ice Queen doesn’t move to cover it, nor does she relax in her seat even when Lexa steps back. 

“I could have anyone of these men kill you.” Lexa points her knife around the room. It passes over Clarke and Clarke sees the darkness in her eyes. Lexa points the blade at the Ice Queen again. “But not without my consent.”

The Ice Queen’s voice is less teasing this time around. “The journey to your lands takes weeks. I would not order my men to mindlessly slaughter their brothers and sisters. I would not allow it.”

Suddenly she’s more receptive to Lexa’s questions. 

Clarke makes her own case. “Why should we trust your word? You’ve done it before.”

Beside her Lexa can’t make eye contact with anyone. She’s staring off into the abyss in a place where Clarke’s not even sure she can pull her back. 

The Ice Queen keeps her eyes on Lexa and subtlety pushes herself back into her seat. Even as she pleads her case to Clarke she doesn’t look away from Lexa, not for one moment. 

The longer Clarke tries to explain the situation and diffuse the tension in the room the more the Ice Queen starts to relax in her chair. And the more she relaxes in her chair, Clarke gets the sense that she’s telling the truth. 

She’s had her fun with Lexa and couldn’t resist prying open old wounds but at the end of the day she’s so clueless on the intimate details of the murders that there’s no way she or her people could be at fault. 

“My warriors are home in their villages with their families.” The Ice Queen assures once again. “Whatever trouble you’ve found, it’s not from me.”

Clarke realizes they’ve made this trip for nothing but to rile Lexa up. Technically they now have more answers but she’s not sure the cost to get them. 

“Thank you for your honesty.” Clarke assures the Queen. “Would you provide us shelter for the night? We’ve traveled a long way to get here.”

“Of course.” The Ice Queen says. “Some of you have been hospitable.”

“No.” Lexa speaks for the first time in a long time. Her voice is raw and to the point. “We’ll leave at once and make camp outside of your boundary.” 

It’s a clear warning. Cross the line and Lexa will not hesitate to attack.

Lexa doesn’t say anything else and Clarke watches other members of their party order the guards in the hall to equip them for the journey back. Clarke waits until everyone is heading for the door to wait on Lexa. The Ice Queen doesn’t move but Lexa stares at her like she’s expecting, or even hoping, that she’ll fight.

“Lexa.” Clarke comes to her side. She doesn’t need to pretend to be anything in front of the Ice Queen. And as much as Lexa won’t admit it, she’s letting her desire for vengeance cloud their reasons for being here. Clarke wills Lexa to look at her. “We’re not here to start a war.”

Her words have the effect she wants and Lexa is lifting her chin, falling behind the cool mask once again, and disinterestedly dismissing the Ice Queen from the conversation. Lexa turns her back on her and Clarke remains to watch that nothing happens. 

“It was a pleasure, Heda kom Skaikru.” The Ice Queen says at their parting. 

Clarke wears boredom over her anxiety and her anger. “I wish I could say the same.” 

*

They make it to the boundary faster than Clarke anticipates. Lexa makes good on her word and they set up camp a mile out. The people of the Ice Nation are generous with their supplies and their party doesn’t go hungry that night. Lexa orders their tents to be built and for fires to be burning high and bright. As if to taunt their hosts. 

Clarke sits in the new comfort of Lexa’s tent, waiting for her to finish the rounds of the camp with Ryder. She busies herself with stoking the fire pit and stares at the flames trying to tell the difference between them and the look on Lexa’s face when the Ice Queen challenged her. 

Lexa is surprised to see her and she doesn’t hide it well. “There is a tent set up for you-”

“Right.” Clarke bites back the comment she wants to make. “Because that would make things easier for you right now.”

Lexa strides to the table that has been set up hastily. Her gloves are pulled from her hands. “Yes, it would.”

Clarke stands. “You don’t get to decide to have things easy right now. Not after what you almost caused in there.” Her words are designed to get under Lexa’s skin. “I thought we were on the same page. I thought we came here in peace to try and figure out what’s happening. Not to get revenge.”

“If I wanted revenge-” Lexa is gripping the edge of the table. 

“If?” Clarke tests her. “I couldn’t tell the difference-”

“She would already be dead.” Lexa keeps a hand on the desk but turns so that Clarke can see the conflict in her expression. “She would have been long dead before any of this. Before the alliance, before the Mountain- before you.”

Clarke holds her ground. “Then why did you risk everything just now?”

“Because my revenge was to ally myself with the people I hated most. My revenge was peace.” Lexa says. “But I had no justice.”

Clarke keeps the distance between them in mind as they talk. “You said this wasn’t about Costia.”

Lexa takes care to face Clarke before speaking. “There is no way to separate the two.”

“I don’t want to take that away from you.” Clarke pauses trying to find a way to delicately continue. “But she’s always going to be a part of you. Losing her shaped the leader that you are.”

Lexa nods. 

It’s difficult and Clarke both does and doesn’t want to hear the rest but this is now about more than almost starting a war. “Tell me about her.” Clarke asks. 

“She was mine.” Lexa stares blankly at the tent wall in front of her. Her hands loosen the clasps of her coat but she doesn’t take it off. 

Clarke stops twisting her hands. “You keep saying that.” She tries to understand. “But I don’t know what that means.”

“We were at war.” Everything is short and clipped. “I didn’t want anything to happen to her.” Lexa looks down and worries her hands together. “I wasted so much time.”

Lexa’s voice betrays her pain and Clarke only moves towards her when Lexa abandons the straps of her coat, like it’s too much for her to tackle while talking. Clarke takes over loosening the clasps and Lexa barely flinches in response. She’s pushing the coat off of Lexa’s shoulders when a hand stops her. 

“Do the Sky People stay with one person for their entire lives?” Lexa’s hand is still over Clarke’s and her coat hangs around her elbows. 

“Some people do.” Clarke thinks of her parents in their happier times. “Sometimes things get in the way.”

“Like death.” Lexa says bluntly allowing Clarke to shrug the coat off but establishing contact again afterward.

“Like death.” Clarke mirrors trying not to imagine her mother ordering her father out of an airlock. There are, of course, other reasons why people don’t spend their lives together but she can tell Lexa isn’t interested in those nuances. 

“Costia was to be mine for my entire life. And every life after that.” Lexa looks Clarke in the eyes for the first time since she started talking. Like suddenly just contact isn’t enough. “I thought once I ended the war we would have the union ceremony and be joined.”

“Lexa-”

“I never asked. I didn’t think I needed to.” Lexa’s words start out scattered and then they focus. “I should have.” 

The exhaustion begins to set in and Clarke can see the disappointment from their fruitless journey rising up. Talking through this is hurting Lexa but she wants Clarke to understand, as much as she can, her motivations. Clarke takes hold of her hand.

Whatever weakness Lexa thinks she’s expressing, Clarke returns with strength. Clarke holds her hand until Lexa starts to relax. When Lexa’s shoulders aren’t as set and her lips aren’t tightly pressed together, Clarke steps forward and brings her into a hug. 

There’s a small amount of humor in the little jump that Lexa responds with. Like she didn’t expect Clarke to bring it in like this. Clarke hugs with her whole body. Her arms wrap around Lexa’s waist, one reaching up to cover her back, and she doesn’t move until Lexa is returning it. 

Lexa is uncomfortable in her arms until Clarke presses her lips to Lexa’s collarbone. Only after that small, reassuring affection, does Lexa allow herself to drape her arms around Clarke’s shoulders. 

“You still want me to go find my tent?” Clarke whispers. 

Lexa kisses her forehead, her lips brushing over her hairline. “No.” 

“Come to bed.” Clarke mumbles. 

She can practically feel the eyebrow quirk Lexa is giving her.

“To sleep.” Clarke’s smile is lazy in response to Lexa’s tentative attempt to lift the mood. She pulls away from the hug but tugs Lexa’s hand, releasing it just as she steps back. 

That’s all both of them wish for and Clarke draws back the covers on their makeshift bed for Lexa, who crawls and collapses into the comfort. Clarke just watches her for a second, amazed at the difference between Lexa a few hours ago to now, before she pulls the blankets over them both. 

Clarke waits for permission for anything more, only moving closer when Lexa looks over her shoulder like she’s wondering where Clarke is. 

They settle, as they have countless times now, with Clarke holding Lexa and leading pointless whispers into sleep. 

*

The gates of NavYard don’t come into view soon enough by the time they reach the end of their journey. Clarke’s horse is tired but still responds to her need to move faster. A few of their scouts see her impatience and let off a signal to the village, a single horn blast to let them know that they’re coming. 

Clarke arrives at the gates before they open and hears the welcomed shouts of her people. Jasper is pushing back the wall and letting her ride into the camp. Her horse knows that they’re home and Clarke is glad to finally be on familiar ground. 

She dismounts and takes in the state of her camp. There are a few more people and a few more buildings. 

And once Lexa and the rest of the men and women that travelled with them are safely inside, Clarke finds herself sought out by Octavia.

There’s a definite air of excitement in camp to see her again, one that isn’t shared from the look on Octavia’s face as she practically jogs over. Clarke’s smile falters and Lexa quickly gets off her horse to join them.

“Octavia-”

“We have a body.” Octavia is a tightly wound ball of anger. Her jaw is clenched and her fists are closed so tightly that her nails are cutting into her palm. She’s ready to fight. “And they haven’t burnt it.”

“What?” Clarke’s not able to process the sudden shift in tone. 

Octavia doesn’t get further than that before Raven catches up to them. Lexa makes room in their closed off circle for her to join.

“We need to take this inside.” Raven states. 

“What is it?” Lexa is impatient and won’t be moved. Clarke stands with her on this.

Raven’s exasperation becomes evident. “You’re not going to like this.”

Clarke is too exhausted for running in circles. “Raven, tell us.”

Raven pauses, just a moment more. “Monty and I looked at the body, Clarke.” She can’t put it off. She can’t sugarcoat it. “It’s a gunshot wound.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find us on tumblr at lucidliar and diana-matheson and. y'know, if you need to yell about anything.


	4. Act Four

*

Clarke sits in the corner as the chaos of the room erupts around her. 

“It could not have been my people.” Lexa asserts after Raven’s suggestion that perhaps some Grounders are using guns. 

“They don’t use guns.” Octavia cuts in. 

“But that was before we took down the Mountain.” Raven argues. “Who knows what could have gone missing.”

Lexa turns away in frustration and Clarke stands up from where she’d sequestered herself away from the conflict. The last thing that she needs is for this to all boil over. Not after the breakthroughs she and Lexa made on their wasted trip to the Ice Nation. 

“Raven.” Clarke says her name pointedly. “The Grounders don’t use guns because they don’t believe in using guns.” Behind her Octavia backs her up with a nod. “Not because they didn’t have access to them.”

“Things change.” Raven grumbles and leans back against the wall of the ship. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest and it all reminds Clarke that she and Raven may have mended bridges but at the end of the day there were never any bridges between Raven and Lexa. 

“We have to face the truth.” Clarke says and she swallows dryly. But she doesn’t look around for water because the conclusion she’s come to is not one that she can wait on much longer. If she hesitates she might lose the will to put forth her theory. 

“And what is that?” Lexa’s suddenly facing her and Clarke forces herself to maintain eye contact. 

“There are only two options.” Clarke pauses. “Either the Mountain or the Ark.” 

“We don’t know that for sure.” Bellamy interjects. “What about the possibility of the lost Ark passengers?”

“Even if there are other settlements, there’s no guarantee they’d have weapons. Plus with the way our people have been killed this is exacting and meticulous.” Clarke’s talking to Bellamy but she keeps her eyes on Lexa and Lexa’s reactions. “This isn’t the work of scared settlers. Someone is murdering people and covering up the evidence. Like they know it’s wrong.”

“We can’t be sure there aren’t other stations who survived the crash.” Raven argues. “Just like we can’t rule out that there are other Grounders with access to this kind of tech.”

The longer this goes on, the more the tension builds. Clarke can’t let them get to a point where Lexa is done listening to Raven accuse her people.

“Or we can face up to what might really be happening.” Monty interrupts. He looks at Clarke, conveying that worry they all have in the back of their minds. 

“We must find out who the enemy is.” Lexa declares. “And then they will pay.”

Clarke frowns. “If and when we find out who is doing this-” She says. “We will come to a decision about what action to take. Not before then.”

Her answer does not pacify Lexa, nor did she expect it to, but all they can do is talk in circles until the time comes. 

“Until then our focus should be on protecting our people.” Clarke states. “That means no one leaves camp on their own, stick to familiar routes, no hunting after dark and radios-” She looks to Raven. “We keep in contact at all times.”

Clarke’s rules are meant for NavYard but she knows a similar thought will be echoed throughout Lexa’s own people. There’s no need to take risks right now.

Exhaustion overtakes her and while she doesn’t crumble yet she draws the meeting to a close before she does. Bellamy leaves to relieve the current watch and Raven retreats to her workspace to no doubt vent to Wick about the meeting. 

“We fixed up your level.” Monty tells her. 

“I should go and examine the body.” Clarke presses a hand to her forehead, trying to fight fatigue. “Make sure we’re not missing anything.”

Octavia steps in. “The body will be there in the morning.” She directs her gaze to Lexa as well. “You need to rest.”

Clarke doesn’t realize just how much until she’s halfway up the ladder and into her room with strict orders from her most trusted lieutenant (Octavia’s words, not hers) to rest.

Octavia looks back at the hatch when Clarke protests. “I’ll hold the fort.”

There’s a million different things she should say but “Thank you” is all that she manages.

* 

She opens her eyes when she feels a weight on the side of her bed. It’s familiar enough that Clarke doesn’t reach for her knife but she still tenses until she can see Lexa’s face in the dim light of her room.

“I’m leaving for Polis.” Lexa whispers. Voices echo in the drop ship so Clarke knows she’s not the only one up but it still feels too early for all of this. 

When Clarke starts to rise, Lexa places a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t get up. You’re still recovering from our journey.”

“So are you.” Clarke retorts. “You can’t have slept more than I have.”

“It is enough.” Lexa replies. “I have to relay our discovery to my generals and start discussions-”

Clarke opens her mouth to interrupt but Lexa’s hand tightens on Clarke’s shoulder. “I will wait until we have discovered those responsible. But I cannot guarantee that my warriors will show mercy if they are engaged.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to.” Clarke rests on her elbows and Lexa’s hand moves from her shoulder to rest beside her hip. Her arm is an arch over her body that remains still as they talk. “If there’s anymore news, or you need anything from us-”

“I will establish contact with you.” Lexa murmurs, still aware that people are sleeping within the camp. “I will inform my warriors that they must contact me immediately if you call.”

“Only if it’s urgent.” Clarke says. “I know you have a civilization to run.”

“Hardly.”

Clarke’s lip turns up and Lexa can see that there’s mockery there.

Lexa looks down at her own hand. “I’m not sure when I’ll return.”

Clarke watches as Lexa’s fingertips flex, spreading out over the parachute material that Clarke is using for sheets. Their trip to the Ice Nation was long and tiring and Lexa still wears her weariness underneath her eyes. They’ve started to pick up the pieces and now Lexa is leaving. 

She covers Lexa’s hand with her own and listens to the way Lexa’s breath hitches just for a second.

“Have a safe journey.” Clarke resigns herself to saying goodbye. The sound of her own sadness in her voice hits Clarke like a wave and she sits up properly. Lexa doesn’t push her back and her eyes dart down her nose and back to her eyes.

Their lips brush, Lexa hovering before pressing-

The hatch to Clarke’s level opens with a creak and Clarke closes her eyes in disappointment. 

“Sorry.” Octavia’s apology comes a few seconds after she takes in the scene. Lexa’s breath is soft against her cheek telling Clarke that she isn’t putting distance between them. “Your horse is ready, Commander.”

Clarke opens her eyes. Lexa’s thumb runs over her knuckles and she’s staring at the back of Clarke’s hand again. “Thank you, Octavia.”

Lexa doesn’t try to kiss her again, instead she stays still for a moment like she’s trying to commit this all to memory for the long ride home. When she does leave, it’s slow and with regret.

Clarke watches her descent down the hatch, her red sash sweeping across the floor and out of sight.

Tiredness consumes her faster than the sudden feeling of loneliness and Clarke is asleep again before she can completely process that Lexa is gone. 

*

Octavia doesn’t tell her how long she’s been sleeping so she won’t feel guilty about it. That lasts for a few seconds before Miller and Bellamy joke about sleeping the day away and Clarke feels heavy all over again.

Before anyone can talk her out of it she takes some time to examine the recovered body. 

The Grounder inside, Erin, is older than Lee was and she can make out his face. The lines on his forehead are deep and frowning. His eyes are closed but his mouth is slightly open, as if he was reacting to something. The attack probably took him by surprise.

Clarke discovers Raven and Monty’s findings. The bullet wounds are littered around his lower body. One through his kneecap, a second further up his thigh where the dried blood has turned his skin red. He bled out. 

There are other marks that are consistent with a struggle, trying to escape; dirt underneath his fingernails and grazes on his palms. He listened when they’d told them to be careful but it wasn’t enough. 

It was, however, enough for his attackers to get sloppy. To mess up and not complete their routine. They weren’t able to hide the evidence of their methods and Clarke picks up the bullets that Raven managed to pull from Erin’s body to study them. 

There are unused bullets beside them, like Raven and Monty and Bellamy had considered comparing them but the Ark’s pool of guns are mixed with the Mountain’s and the guns from the bunker that Clarke and Bellamy found. There’s no way for them to trace them back.

“Here you are.” Bellamy’s gruff voice interrupts her thoughts and Clarke puts the bullets down. He stands beside her and looks over Erin’s body with controlled grief. 

“What’s up?” Clarke asks.

“They’re just finishing up dinner now, if you’re hungry.” Bellamy tells her. “After that I think Monty and Wick are hosting something in the drop ship. Just for a few of us.”

“I’ll be out in a minute”

“Hey,” He places a hand on her shoulder, comfortingly. “We’ve got some time to figure all of this out. We’re all on high alert.”

Clarke nods. Bellamy takes his hand away and goes on. “And I’m pretty sure if I’d just had to spend a long amount of time with the Commander in less than ideal conditions, I’d want to be left alone but-” He smiles and Clarke doesn’t point out that it wasn’t bad. Not all of it. “You’ve been missed.”

Clarke smiles back but there’s an amused bitterness in her tone. “I’m sure you can’t be speaking for everyone.” Jasper. She always means Jasper. 

Bellamy ignores her. “Grab some food and come hole up with the rest of us. Forget about the world for a minute.” He retreats when she nods, giving her some space. “Everything will still be here when you come out.”

Now that, she thinks, isn’t true.

*

Clarke smiles at Monty’s new and improved still set up in the corner of the room. She smiles even harder when she tastes the product that’s come out of it. “Is this one hundred proof?”

Monty laughs and tips his own cup at her. “The Grounders shared a recipe for something called moonshine. Pretty good, huh?”

“Strong.” Clarke agrees and takes another small sip. She enjoys the way it burns all of the way down. Raven’s got some sort of music playing from the device she and Wick restored and Clarke lets the beat and the moonshine relax her limbs. 

“Over here.” Bellamy’s voice booms out over the music. He smiles at her and in another life Clarke thinks she could follow through on the attraction he so clearly has for her. But in this life all she can picture is Lexa’s stoicism and the way she quirks her lip when she thinks she’s being funny. Or the way that her arms tighten around Clarke’s body in the night, an almost involuntary protective action that more than serves its purpose. 

Clarke realizes she’s been staring off into nothing and follows Bellamy’s voice to the corner where he, Octavia, and Lincoln are playing some sort of drinking game. “What’s this?” Clarke asks as she sits down next to Bellamy. 

There’s a deck of playing cards they’d salvaged spread out messily across the table and a partially full cup in the middle of the cards. “It’s called Kings Cup. Apparently they used to play it on Earth.” Octavia answers. 

Lincoln takes the time to explain the rules to her and soon more and more people are joining them and laughing at the ridiculous things they have to do for each card. 

Somebody pulls a six of hearts from the deck and the men collectively groan when they all have to take another drink. Clarke takes a drink with them anyway which earns her a nod of solidarity from Jasper and an eye roll from Raven. 

It’s nice to let loose and stop thinking about the grim realities they face every single day. There’s seldom been a moment since they crash landed on the ground almost a year ago that Clarke hasn’t felt like her first and only priority was survival. 

But the more of the moonshine she drinks, the more she lets go and lets the joy of the party wash over her. 

They haven’t done something like this, to this scale, since the very first Unity Day celebration. Before they’d truly understood the gravity of what it meant to live on the ground. Back when they were separated from the Ark by circumstance instead of by choice. 

The Ark. 

Her friends are drunk and laughing and it brings a small smile to her face. They’re on their own but they’ve done well for themselves. Healthy as they can be and happy as can be expected. 

It all makes her think of her mom. Of what her mom would think of her leadership and how she’s fared without their help. 

Clarke stands up and excuses herself from the game. Octavia whines that she better come back but Clarke’s already stumbling in the direction of Raven’s workspace. She gets there and takes care not to touch anything that looks like it could possibly blow up. Then again it’s Raven, almost everything could potentially blow up. 

The radio Clarke’s looking for is behind a pile of improvised explosives so she takes great care in grabbing it and sitting on a chair in the corner. She tunes the radio until she hears a few promising crackles and then, at once, the sound of her mom’s voice. 

She’s not saying anything too important, just communicating with a group out on a hunt. In fact, Clarke can hardly believe her luck that she’s actually caught any chatter. It’d been something of a pipe dream in the first place. 

But it makes something pang in her heart to hear life going on like normal without her. To hear her mom’s life going on without her. Clarke listens for a few more seconds before everything goes silent. She waits for a few minutes to see if anything else will come up but the line stays silent. 

Clarke turns off the radio and sets it down on the side table next to her. Her eyes slip closed from a combination of residual physical and emotional exhaustion. 

She wakes up to her friends scattered, in various states of passed out, on the floor all around her. Clarke smiles at the thought that they’d missed her and came to find her asleep. That they’d joined her only makes her heart swell with the feeling that these people are her family now. 

Her home. 

Clarke let’s her eyes slip back closed on that thought. It’s been a long year. 

Who knows when things will be this calm again. 

*

As it turns out the long term effects of living in an environment full of new and exotic stressors leads to the party stretching out longer than the one intended night. Finally, after days of excess Clarke wakes up with a barely coherent Monty leaning against her and decides that enough is enough. 

They can’t avoid their responsibilities forever. 

The alcohol is put away and normal life resumes in NavYard. Clarke, Bellamy and a few others burn Erin’s body outside their walls and give him the funeral that he deserves. 

With his body gone, Clarke finds it easier to focus on what they need to do next. And that’s to figure out who is responsible. 

“The Ark or the Mountain.” Clarke looks over one of the maps given to them by Lexa. She knows it well and there’s no reason to have it out other than to do something other than stare at Raven and Wick.

“What are we going to do about it either way?” Raven questions. Every decision Clarke makes is being nitpicked by her increasingly high strung inner circle. “Confront the Ark? Storm back to the Mountain? It’s dangerous and I don’t know if you’ve looked around in a while but we don’t have an army.”

“We could.” Octavia sits still on the floor against the wall of the drop ship. They’re talking it out in Clarke’s room, which seems to double as the war room at this point. “All we’d have to do is ask.”

Bellamy stands leaning against the wall next to her, content to listen for now. 

Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t want this to be aggressive. We don’t know if we need to fight yet.”

“This isn’t heading anywhere else.” Octavia points out. “People are dying.” She pauses. “Our people are dying. I don’t see how this ends any other way.”

Jasper makes a noise that sounds too much like laughter and Monty elbows him. 

“Octavia.” Clarke’s voice is tinged with underlying notes of warning. She doesn’t like to pull rank often but Octavia’s trying to push this further than Clarke’s comfortable with. 

“She’s right.” Raven says. “If we don’t do anything, they’ll keep on killing us all off. And I don’t know about you, but I came down here to save lives-”

It all seems so far away to think of pulling Raven out of that escape pod. 

“And I didn’t?” Clarke’s voice sounds harsh even in her own head.

“You’ve kept us alive as best as you could.” Monty chimes in softly. “Nobody is questioning that. But Octavia and Raven are right.”

Monty’s interjection cuts into the flow of the argument. Clarke doesn’t have anything to say as she processes the fact that the odds are stacked against her. She can’t help but think of how Lexa would counsel her in this situation. 

Gon war. 

Nevermind, she’s altogether certain what Lexa would say. There’s no room for latitude in a doctrine like blood must have blood. But that doesn’t change the sour taste in her mouth at the thought of going to war again. Period. Let alone so soon after pacifying Mount Weather. 

The thought of more blood being spilled in the name of what? Survival? 

Clarke wants so much to say that she has a better way. A diplomatic, pacific solution to all of their problems. But she looks at Octavia and Raven, hell, even Bellamy and Monty. Certainly Jasper. The looks on their faces spell out one solution. 

“War.” Clarke’s voice sounds like it’s coming from someone else. “That’s what you’re all suggesting.”

“The cameras.” Jasper cuts in. “Mount Weather runs surveillance on the ground. I think the Ark kept the systems in tact when we left. Maybe--”

“We could go to the mountain and ask them nicely if they’ll give us their video. Sorry for all the murder but we need your tech now.” Wick chimes in sarcastically and Raven elbows him in the ribs. 

“Who said anything about asking.” Clarke states firmly. “That’s a great idea. I’ll go.”

The thought of going back to Mount Weather puts a pit in her stomach but she’s the leader. She has to be willing to make sacrifices for her people. Even if it’s her own well being. 

“No.” Bellamy pushes off of the wall and walks towards Clarke. “I’ll go. I know the layout and I’m familiar with their protocol.” He looks to Jasper. “Jasper will come with me. He’ll be an asset on the inside.”

Bellamy gives her a look that conveys he’s once again trying to take something off of her shoulders. This time Clarke appreciates it. She doesn’t know if she could ever go back there. Not yet anyway. 

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Clarke absently scans the maps for something to do while she gives her orders. “How soon can you two be ready to leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Bellamy answers quickly. “We’ll take a radio to report back on what we find.”

“Good.” Raven claps her hands together. “Then it’s settled. Great meeting.” She’s moving towards the hatch and opening it before Clarke has a chance to say any finals words. 

Raven heads out and Wick follows closely behind her. Bellamy and Jasper have their heads huddled together working out logistics for their new mission. They acknowledge her with a nod when they leave, Monty in tow with a sad smile on his face. 

Octavia stays behind once everyone else has left. “You’re doing the right thing.” She puts a hand on Clarke’s shoulder and presses her lips tightly together. 

“Am I?” Clarke allows self-deprecation to seep into her tone when it’s just the two of them. “Because I feel like every step I take is another step closer to more death.” Clarke scoffs and shrugs Octavia’s hand off of her. “More blood on my hands.”

“Maybe.” Octavia agrees nonplussed by Clarke’s rejection. “But that doesn’t make it the wrong thing to do.”

Clarke sighs and pushes her hair back off of her forehead. “Lexa would be proud of me.” 

“She would.” Octavia moves closer to the hatch. “I know you’re trying to use that to beat yourself up but it’s true.” She starts to go down the ladder but peeks her head just above the surface. “Clarke?”

“Yeah?” Clarke looks back up to see a rare vulnerable look on Octavia’s face. Gone is the hardened warrior or even the practiced sarcastic demeanor. Instead it’s the girl who was kept underneath metal floors and hidden away in a room for most of her life. 

“You’re doing the best you can.”

She closes the hatch behind her and Clarke’s left alone. The words roll around in her head until she forces herself to internalize and believe them. 

It takes most of the night. 

By morning when she’s seeing off Bellamy and Jasper she’s convinced.

This is their best move. 

*

Clarke is sure that her friends wish she’d gone to the mountain with Jasper and Bellamy. At least then she’d be busy hiking and discovering new information and being useful. Instead she’s reduced to wandering around the camp aimlessly and bothering other people.

They won’t admit that she’s annoying them, other than Raven who kicks her out after Clarke sits being unhelpful in her lab, but Clarke can see it. Even Monty suggests that she help the guards on their watch after she interrupts his garden plotting.

That’s how she ends up sitting watch in one of the tree posts with Miller. 

“So how’s it--”

“It’s best if we’re quiet.” Miller interrupts calmly. “So we can hear someone trying to sneak up.”

Clarke gets the meaning underneath his logical reasoning and shuts up. 

He glances back at her and with a small sigh says: “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” And then he returns to watching the trees outside camp.

That kind of calms her down. As calm as she can get waiting, once again, on Bellamy. 

It feels like her life has come full circle in a way only nothing is the same. Even her constants aren’t that constant anymore. 

But waiting. That never changes. 

*

The line goes dead and Raven sets the radio down. The mood drops with it. Clarke tries to keep whatever is shaking inside her chest still and breathe. Octavia cracks her knuckles out of nerves. 

Monty is the first to break the silence. “So, we have proof.”

Clarke wishes they didn’t.

*

Clarke’s packing and throwing rations and provisions in her pack before anyone has time to process. 

They’ve already wasted too much time on her need to be one hundred percent certain. 

“No. We’re not waiting. We don’t know how long Bellamy will take to get back or if he’s even coming back tonight. I have to go now.” Clarke snaps. Octavia crosses her arms tightly over her chest and Lincoln, freshly returned from a supply run to Tondc, places a calming hand on her lower back. “And if you’re serious about coming with me, you’ll get ready.”

“It’s getting dark.” Octavia argues.

“These horses know the way better than we do.” There’s an answer for everything. “Look, I can’t sit here with what I know and not do something. I told Lexa that we’d come to her when we found out what’s been happening. We know what’s going on, I’m riding to Polis.”

“Clarke, just stop for a second.” Octavia pleads. “It’s dangerous out there-”

“It’s always been dangerous.” Clarke rebutes. Octavia’s hand loosens on the reins of her horse. Clarke’s shoulders tense up. “We can’t wait any longer.”

Octavia lets go of the reins and Clarke leads her horse out. There’s no question that Octavia is coming with her and she follows Clarke into the courtyard to prepare. And with Octavia comes Lincoln so that’s a given as well. 

“Hey.” Their plan to escape under the cover of darkness is stalled by Raven who has a bag slung over her shoulder and a look of determination in her eyes.

“No.” Clarke says instantly.

“Firstly, fuck you.” Raven replies. “I’m sick of being stuck here in this camp while everyone else gets to ride around making decisions. I’m making one for myself. I’m coming with you.”

Clarke wants to argue until she’s blue in the face about Raven’s leg, about needing someone here at camp, about so many things but Lincoln steps up. “She can ride with me.”

Lincoln moves before Clarke can say anything against it, bringing his horse over and helping Raven get into the saddle. She complains about it, like she doesn’t need his help but she’s grinning at this small victory. Lincoln gets on behind her and makes sure that they’re comfortable enough for the ride out ahead. 

They slip out quickly with only a small acknowledgement to the guards on watch with instructions left behind for when people discover them gone in the morning. Clarke has no regrets as her horse takes her through the trees, navigating the darkness easily, towards Polis. 

Towards Lexa.

*

Lincoln’s expression is unmistakably full of affection. Clarke is staring, she knows she’s shouldn’t, but he isn’t taking his eyes away from Octavia while she sleeps even though they’re both supposed to be on watch. (If anyone gets killed, it’s definitely going to be his fault.)

Though that will be hard considering how well they’re hidden in one of the old bunkers that are littered around the area between the NavYard and the mountain. Lincoln led them there to settle when the blinding sun of the afternoon faded into the crisp breeze of the evening. A full day’s ride has left them all weak and weary. 

It’s starting to feel warmer like it did when they first crashed onto Earth and Clarke’s thankful for the fact that she doesn’t have to huddle with anyone to keep from freezing.

She doubts Raven would be amenable anyway. 

Even still, Clarke offers to take first watch with Lincoln to let Octavia and Raven sleep. 

“You can join her if you want.” Clarke whispers. “I’ll be fine.”

Lincoln looks like he thinks about it but he doesn’t act on it. “It’s rare I get to see her looking like this.”

Clarke can’t hide her confusion. “Looking like this?”

“Like when I first saw her.” He says quietly. “Peaceful. Before our people turned against each other.”

Octavia lies on her side with her hands tucked underneath her makeshift pillow. Everything about her looks soft. For once she’s not even covered in the usual ash and dirt. 

“Lexa told me about something.” Clarke starts hesitantly. “A union.” 

If Clarke didn’t know any better she would almost think she’d made Lincoln blush. “The Commander spoke to you about a union?”

The way he says it makes it feel heavier than Clarke remembers the conversation. “She did.” Clarke doesn’t bring up the context of their discussion because it feels like intimate knowledge that Lincoln doesn’t need to know about his Commander. 

“I think about asking her.” Lincoln returns to looking at Octavia like he hasn’t just revealed his intentions. Clarke’s face flushes with the information, his feelings made clear in the air between them. 

Clarke looks down at her feet. Lincoln is telling her this because she’s closest to Octavia. They care about each other. To the ends of the Earth and back. Through fire and fighting and everything else. 

Lincoln is asking because he cares about Octavia just as deeply, if not more. 

Clarke wants to tell him in return that ever since the conversation with Lexa she’s thought about it. What it would be like to have that assurance, that bond, some sort of stability in an uncertain world. To know that she’s not just living for fleeting moments and the possibility of everything could slip through their fingers without warning. 

“I think you should.” Clarke stumbles out her answer, trying to convey her sincerity. She’s caught out by the surprise of Lincoln’s honesty but certainly not by the intent of his words. She wants to hear the adoration pour out of him and see Octavia’s reaction. 

Clarke can’t help but think once more about time and how much they do or do not have left. People are dying all around her, their reality is one of a fragile peace, and she’s not so naive as to think Commander is a title that comes with a lifetime guarantee. 

Or for that matter that she’ll live to see her own hair turn gray. 

Lincoln’s eyes are on her once more and Clarke shakes her head. “Sorry. Lost in my own head.”

He studies her curiously before shuffling closer to where she sits. Clarke checks herself, like her body is revealing too much.

“It is a sacred bond. A union isn’t tied to the ground.” He tells her. “It’s bonded to the soul.”

Clarke swallows against the dryness in her throat as Lincoln explains it in more detail. She didn’t ask for it but Lincoln offers the stories willingly, like he knows that she wants to hear it all. 

“So, you found her?” Clarke murmurs. 

“We’ll always find each other.” Lincoln says. He looks like he’s never believed in anything more. 

“What if we don’t?” Clarke slips and in a moment it becomes personal. Lincoln doesn’t miss a beat. He doesn’t probe her with questioning eyes or tease her with his words. 

He remains strong and still, gazing over the fire at Octavia. His face relaxes into a blissful smile and minutes pass before he speaks again. “You don’t need me to tell you that.” Lincoln turns to her. “You already know.”

Clarke doesn’t miss how he ends that, putting it all on her and she feels heavy again. Her body is overwhelmed and finally begging for sleep. 

“Go.” Lincoln nods to Clarke’s empty bedroll. “I’m okay here.”

She’s grateful for everything, especially the bliss of sleep that overcomes her when she lies down, and for the telling sight of Lexa when she closes her eyes.

*

In the morning Lincoln acknowledges her with nothing more than small nod and they ride on.

On the fourth day, the skies open up and it pours freezing cold rain for the entire ride. It doesn’t stop by the time night falls and they end up pitching a tent for the horses and huddling by the fire underneath another tent. 

Clarke volunteers to stay up and keep watch while the others sleep and by the time morning comes there’s a chill running through her bones that she can’t shake off. She spends most of the final leg covered in a cool, damp sweat and coughing so hard she feels like she’ll fall off her horse. 

They arrive at the gates of Polis and the guards immediately recognize them and allow them to pass through. Once they reach the Commander’s compound, Lexa is waiting outside in full regalia. When she sees Clarke her face hardens and her posture stiffens. 

She moves forward without pause and helps Clarke off of her horse. Even as Lincoln takes the horse, Lexa keeps a steadying hand on the small of Clarke’s back. Lexa has still yet to say a word but she leads Clarke inside of the house anyway without regard for her traveling party. 

Once they enter Lexa’s room the facade drops. There’s a fire burning inside of Lexa’s room and it only serves to heighten Clarke’s fever. 

“You do not look well.” Lexa crosses the room in a few easy strides to put out the fire. 

“I missed you too.” Clarke tries to sound sarcastic but it’s difficult between sniffles and hacking coughs. She tries to stand tall and swallows against another cough. “We came here for a reason.”

“Not if you catch your death first.” Lexa argues while she leads Clarke to lay down on her bed. “Rest and I’ll call for the healer.”

“We don’t have time for rest.” Clarke tries to argue but her eyes are drooping against her will. “We need to talk.”

“I know.” Lexa’s voice is low and throaty as she strokes Clarke’s hair. “There’ll be time for that when you’re well.”

Clarke opens her mouth for a rebuttal but finds that the comfort of the bed and the motion of Lexa stroking her hair takes all of the fight out of her. 

“Sleep.” Lexa says softly and it’s the last thing Clarke hears before everything goes dark. 

*

Clarke isn’t sure how long the fever keeps her coming in and out of consciousness. The times she does open her eyes are rare and Clarke can only catch glimpses of Octavia and Raven which are usually followed by something cold being pressed against her forehead and humming.

When she does find some strength she uses it to roll on her side and ignore the hunger she feels in favor of trying to breathe through her nose clearly. She sees Lexa studying something on the table across the room. The candlelight obscures Lexa’s face so Clarke can only make out a worried frown before she falls asleep again.

The pattern of falling in and out of consciousness repeats for days. 

One morning there’s a hand on her knee and everything feels clearer. An open window ushers in a cool breeze and when Clarke opens her eyes there’s no need to fight against the instinct to instantly close them again.

Raven’s expression relaxes into a genuine smile and Clarke’s heart tightens. “You had us all worried there.”

After going through hell and back with her, Clarke more than appreciates that Raven is waiting right beside her. Even though she knows that once she’s up and moving again Raven will deny she ever cared at all. 

Raven gets her some water because Clarke’s attempt to reply to her comes out as dusty garbling and only then does she realize how weak she feels. 

“We’re on it.” Raven rubs her knee. “You woke up for a little bit yesterday, I don’t know if you remember- but the healer said you’d gotten through the worst of it.”

“If you say more bed rest-” Clarke murmurs.

Raven chuckles. “We don’t have time for you to get any more beauty sleep.”

They sit in silence for a minute before Raven excuses herself, walking stiffly to the door, to alert whoever is outside about her condition. Clarke listens to the relief in Raven’s tone and the quick footsteps that die out in the distance. 

When Raven sits down again, Clarke’s stomach rumbles.

“First things first though-” Raven smiles. “We’ve got to get you standing again.”

Raven spends the next few hours plying her with food and water. Clarke only insists she stop when it becomes hard to sit up in bed. It does the job though because she feels better than she has in almost a week. 

Her room in Polis is a short walk away from the baths that Clarke used on their first visit so, with some difficulty, she walks to them. 

Raven sits on the edge, dipping her feet in, while Clarke pretends she’s not self-conscious stripping off and getting in the water. It’s warm and welcoming and Clarke becomes aware of cuts and nicks that sting in the water. She washes her hair and her face and then floats by the side, near Raven, until she feels like a person again.

“Who knew there was a body under all that grime?” Raven jokes. Clarke splashes her in retaliation.

Clarke dunks herself under a final time before she emerges from the bath. There’s a few towels that she wraps herself up in, towel drying her hair while Raven finds someone to bring her some cleaner clothes. It gives her a moment to look at the settling water and collect her thoughts. 

She’s here for a reason after all. 

Her muscles ache when she gets dressed but she feels better. There isn’t a lot of time to stand and think but for a second she does. Clarke takes note of her skin (darkened by the sun and hardened by the life she’s started to make down here) to her hair (longer and never free of tangles) and to all the things in between (new scars and pains and lungs that are more capable than when she landed.). Time has gone by so fast. 

When she’s presentable Clarke finally moves with that urgency that she came with. Raven might frown when she asks to see Lexa, but she doesn’t try to stop her. 

“She’s in the council room.” Raven says. “Octavia returned from Tondc yesterday with Indra-”

Clarke didn’t know Octavia had left. 

“They’re pretty much waiting for what you have to say.”

“You didn’t tell them?” Clarke asks. 

Raven shrugs. “We explained a little but you know how they are.” Clarke waits for Raven to say her next piece, ignoring the way the statement sounds. “It’s more legitimate coming from our leader.”

Clarke remembers the way but she walks slower so that Raven can keep pace with her. Every now and then Clarke can hear the small squeak of metal attached to Raven’s leg. Neither of them comment on it. 

They can hear talking behind the door as the guards open it for them. When they enter the conversation dies out and all eyes turn to them.

Clarke takes in the room, lit up by daylight and open flames, and occupied by Lexa’s closest generals. 

Lexa, who is leaning against the table, stands up straighter until her fingertips are the only thing left touching the wood when she sees Clarke. Her warpaint is on, smudged around her eyes thickly, but Clarke can see the subtle change there. Relief. 

“Clarke.” She addresses. For those who aren’t paying attention announcing her presence is enough to have some of the slower generals standing. Clarke steps forward, finding it odd to be at the receiving end of this level of respect. 

Lexa introduces Raven as well and Clarke is sure that everyone around the table remembers the bomb on the bridge but they don’t regard Raven any differently. When Clarke makes her way around the table, Indra gives up her seat for her. To reject it would be a bad idea, so Clarke sits and Raven moves to sit beside Octavia, who watches the proceedings over her mentor’s shoulder. Her own warpaint, the familiar dark smudged across her eyes, shows that she’s ready for Clarke is going to say. 

Lexa doesn’t sit. She stays ready but still, like she’s expecting someone to attack her and force her to draw her own blade from her belt. Clarke places her trust in Octavia in the absence of her own weapon.

Lexa looks at her like she’s waiting for the second the meeting is over to say her own piece but knows that patience is her friend.

Time is not.

“I’m sorry to keep you all waiting.” Clarke starts. “I realize that time is important, especially in this matter but I want to ask you, all of you-” She looks at each of the generals in turn. “-to listen closely to what I am about to say.”

*

There is unrest in the wake of the discussion. Lexa’s generals are the most experienced and battle worn of her people. They are trusted with making the hardest decisions for the sake of their people but even they clenched their fists and struck the table with the news she brought. 

Their alliance didn’t save her from having accusations thrown her way. Now that the room is almost empty, Clarke stares down at the table in the aftermath and tries to forget how quick they were to call for Skaikru blood. It’s hard to imagine a time when this won’t be their first reaction. 

“My generals do not always think before they speak.”

With one last look Octavia closes the door behind her sealing Clarke in the room with Lexa. Lexa who unburdens herself of her sword and wraps the red sash around the sheath before placing it on the table. Only then does she walk around to stand by Clarke’s side. 

“I apologize.”

Clarke shakes her head. “You don’t need to.” She says. “They’re right to be angry. I don’t want to think that my mom-.” She cuts herself off and pauses. “I’m angry too.”

“They’re angry at the wrong person.” Lexa states. She’s stood still in contrast to Clarke’s shaking. Clarke can’t think of anything that will take away the anxiety the meeting has left her with. The choices they have to make are few and with consequences that Clarke doesn’t want to bear.

“But they are angry.” Clarke reminds her. “And we have to act.”

“The decision is ours. Not theirs.” Lexa keeps her voice level. 

Clarke watches Lexa’s hands on the table. Her fingers lie flat and Clarke loses a second just to marvel at the tiny pricks of white skin. The scars that litter her knuckles, the ones she spent nights on their journey counting, are still there as clear as day.

“I don’t want to condemn my people.” Clarke replies. “We may have left Camp Jaha but my mother is their leader. We don’t see eye to eye but I can’t believe she’d order this. I grew up with these people, Lexa.”

“Those people locked you up for a year. Those people sent you down here to die.” Lexa’s statement isn’t intended to make her flinch but Clarke does. Hearing it laid out so simply, free of the complications and the pain that comes with thinking about her father, feels odd. Like it isn’t enough.

“I am not asking you to condemn all of your people.” Lexa’s hands are by her sides again and instinctively Clarke mirrors the action. “I am asking for justice.”

“Then let me discover who it is.” Clarke asks. “Guns mean the Ark is involved but it doesn’t tell us the whole story.”

It doesn’t give motives and it doesn’t mean the obvious. Clarke wants to be sure. Lexa is strong and unwavering but when her generals called for blood she did not silence their demands. 

“My warriors will want more. Ours ways haven’t changed, Clarke.” Lexa says the last part softly like she’s trying to soften the blow. 

“They can have more.” Clarke clenches her jaw. “They can have the murderers. They can have any member of the Ark that has laid hands on your people with intent to kill them.”

Lexa’s eyes soften. “Our people.”

The heavy emphasis on ‘our’ doesn’t escape Clarke. She takes in the room and remembers the expressions that everyone wore as she revealed what she knew. She felt their anger. She felt their rage and their desire for revenge. 

“I won’t ask you for ruthlessness, Clarke.” Lexa tells her. There’s an unspoken agreement that she already has that covered. “But I am asking that you stand with me on a course of action. And see it through to the end.”

“And if we can’t?”

“My people will not follow weakness.” Lexa’s voice grows cold. 

Blood must have blood. One way or another.

Clarke understands. “Let me find out exactly who is responsible. Then we can have our justice.”

Lexa gives her a rare, amused smile at Clarke aligning herself with the ground. “And in the meantime? My people demand swift retribution.”

“Give your orders.”

“My orders sound like they come from you.” Lexa’s retort is full of mockery.

“Is that a problem?” Clarke asks. Lexa’s jaw tightens and the trace amusement is forced back slightly. Clarke steps into Lexa’s personal space and the winding tension that simmers in Lexa begins to relax. “You said it yourself, we have to be a united front on this.”

“Together.” Lexa distinguishes and places a hand on Clarke’s side. “But my people will not be swayed by someone without the Commander’s spirit. Not matter how much they can grow to respect you, they will not follow you.”

“Then we have to make them.” Lexa looks up at Clarke’s face so quickly that whiplash is sure to follow. Clarke doesn’t back down. 

She coaxes Lexa’s right hand from her side and can’t help the shock that runs through her at the coarseness of her hand. It’s nowhere near the first time she’s held Lexa’s hand in hers but this time she can’t help but let her mind drift to another place. To a place where even locked away on a ship in space there was a lighter band of skin on her mother’s ring finger when she took her wedding band off. How metals were recycled to make them even though the  
tradition was such an excess in light of their resource dearth. 

But tradition is tradition. 

She thinks about how those rings were passed down from their mother’s to their children until the lines stopped. Because tradition is one thing but waste is another. 

She thinks about how that line will end with her.

Lexa clears her throat and considers her with a strange look on her face. Clarke realizes she’s been stroking Lexa’s hand in her own and drops it like it burns. 

“If they’re questioning your ability to lead because of me, if they’re acting out and testing your authority- because of me.” Clarke asserts. “Then we have to stop it. I don’t want another war. I don’t want to see our people turn against you.”

“Clarke.”

“There’s no one else, Lexa.” The frustration bleeds into her voice because it’s all connected. Leadership and their feelings for each other. War, death, destruction. “And I’m sick of pretending that we can’t acknowledge any of this.”

“Clarke.” Lexa repeats again as if she wants to warn off whatever is about to come next. Clarke won’t let her. 

She renews her hold on Lexa’s hand and the space between them starts to dissolve. Clarke lets the words come while Lexa holds on to the shreds of her disaffected mask. 

“We don’t talk about how much I care because you’re trying so hard not to.” Clarke’s every word is pointed. “We don’t talk about anything. You kissed me first. You opened up first. You. And ever since then it’s been me.”

“I won’t chase you. I won’t run from this but I can’t just-” She continues to swallow the traitorous lump in her throat. “I can’t push that down to talk about when things aren’t like this- it’s always going to be like this. There’s always going to be some battle or war or chaos that we have to deal with and if at the end of the day I can’t just come to you and-”

“You can come to me.” Lexa is looking at her, eyes lucid and focused entirely on Clarke. 

“This isn’t about the alliance. This isn’t about us being leaders and having to make choices, it’s about our relationship-, I don’t need your advice, Lexa.” Clarke stalls. “I need you.”

Clarke grows frustrated at herself, at Lexa, and at her palms that won’t stop sweating and her chest that feels ready to cave from the confession. 

“Do you trust me?” 

The rush of words slowly catch up to Lexa and Clarke swears, even in the dim light of the War Council room, that Lexa’s face is flushed. Lexa stares at their hands as Clarke laces their fingers together, letting them hang between their bodies. And then, in response, Lexa gives a single decisive nod.

That nod gives a hope.

Lexa places Clarke’s hand on her waist and presses her forehead against Clarke’s. There will be traces of paint on her nose when Lexa pulls away but the closeness that Lexa so readily embraces her with is something Clarke won’t spurn. 

And all the same, it hides the nerves they feel and masks it with something else. “Do you know what you’re doing?” Lexa murmurs. “Do you understand what you’re doing to me?”

Boldness. That’s what drives her. Unwillingness to ignore and the mad fluttering that Lexa’s closeness brings out in her. Clarke traces the tip of her nose down Lexa’s cheek and across her jaw. “Yes.” Nothing less than total belief will do.

Lexa kisses her even as the word has just barely passed her lips. Her hands part, resting one against Clarke’s jaw and the other cupping the back of her neck. Her thumb rubbing underneath Clarke’s ear. She can still feel the touch even as Lexa’s hand moves. 

And it’s unlike all kisses before it. There’s no pretense. There’s nothing that can be brushed aside or blamed on the moment or chalked up to pure arousal. 

It knocks her dizzy and Clarke’s thumbs dig into Lexa’s waist as the table does against her own back. Lexa’s strength and height gives an advantage to the kiss that Clarke has never fully appreciated until now. 

As her breathing gets labored, as her eyes beg not to part for the time it takes to recover and as Lexa nips at her bottom lip. As everything feels more. 

It’s all consuming. 

It’s watching the wax drip down a single flickering candle several hours later from the warmth of Lexa’s bed. Feeling the touch behind her ear and the lingering kiss on the back of Lexa’s neck as she talks about spirituality and listens intently to what is to come. 

“Every life I live.” Lexa whispers. “Every life you live.”

The ever flowing rivers and the mountains forged by man will dry up and crumble before they do. Clarke understands why Lexa asked if she knew what she was doing.

Eternity.

Lexa’s hand stills on her ribs. “You may not hold our beliefs about reincarnation, but it is at the center of everything for our people.”

Clarke still struggles with the idea that when Lexa dies the Commander’s spirit will choose another host- a new Commander. That hiding beneath flesh and bone there is importance beyond anything she’s been taught. The soul granted eternal life. 

It is therefore even harder to imagine it happening to herself. 

“This would not be for a single lifetime.” Lexa has explained in pieces that she has lived many lives, and that those lives have shaped her in ways she’s not supposed to understand. She remembers parts and reacts with instincts she has never needed to hone. The spirit chose her and Lexa became what she was born to be.

And now she begins to promise part of that cycle to Clarke. 

“Clarke.”

“How will you know?” Clarke asks. She rolls onto her back and moves so that Lexa is still comfortable against her side. Once settled, Lexa’s hand trails over Clarke’s stomach again. 

“There are somethings that I won’t forget.” Lexa says without pause. “Tragedy and beauty.”

Clarke’s smile is followed by wondering which category she really belongs to.

“I will always know.” Lexa’s hand stops as she speaks with utmost certainty. Clarke wonders if this has already happened somewhere, some other time. Or if this is new? A homecoming or a discovery. 

Clarke yearns for more than Lexa’s sincerity and she pushes Lexa’s hand up, over her stomach towards her chest and Lexa brushes her lips against her jaw before her mouth. Clarke gasps into it more when Lexa rolls her thumb over a hard nipple. 

Clarke uses the kiss to gently turn the tables. Lexa’s back arches, unused to being on it still, and Clarke shudders when she feels Lexa’s hands move to trail the goosebumps on her thighs. She’s ready again.

The candle burns itself out long before either of them sleep.

*

Clarke gets the morning after that was stolen from her and though it doesn’t quite feel the same, Clarke appreciates the slowness and the cool breeze that filters through the windows. The softness of the furs they lie on make her skin ticklish and Clarke breaks into a small smile when Lexa shivers at the small movements Clarke makes to embrace her. 

It’s the most at peace Clarke has seen Lexa. There is naturally still a small worried dent between her eyes but the rest of her face is relaxed. Sleep drags Lexa back and Clarke watches with affection as the morning grows old. 

Nobody comes to bother them but Clarke doesn’t worry. For once she’s sure that other people can handle the weight of the world. 

At least until the afternoon. 

The real world with its obligations and looming threat of conflict will still be there when they disentangle their bodies and get out of bed. But until then Clarke wants to imagine what it would be like if this was every day. If they weren’t the leaders of their respective people. If the aforementioned obligations weren’t life or death. 

If they could just be. And nothing more. 

She’s surprised with a soft kiss on the back of her neck. “You’re deep in thought.” Lexa’s voice is low and gravely in the morning and it sends a chill down Clarke’s spine. She tries her hardest but she can’t imagine a world where she’s not allowed to have this. 

“We deserve to be selfish.” Clarke rolls so she’s facing Lexa and she’s greeted with quirked eyebrows and a wry smile. 

“Do we?” Lexa retorts, more dry humor than the authoritative aura she projects to everyone else. 

Clarke runs her hand over the tattoo on Lexa’s arm, watching how her touch makes Lexa’s shiver. “There’s no way this doesn’t end in blood.”

The sleep fades from Lexa’s eyes as those words hang between them. Clarke’s hand stops. “Clarke.” 

“No matter what we do--no matter what I find out.” Clarke pauses. “I used to dream about what it would be like on Earth.” 

Lexa keeps quiet and places a hand between them, waiting, if Clarke needs. 

“I’d stare down from the Ark and imagine all of the wonderful things on Earth.” For a second the stars fill the dark when she closes her eyes. “I thought, if only I could get down there. If only it was possible.” The light returns and reality comes with it. “But all the ground has done is take everything from me.”

The ground didn’t deliver the life that she’d imagined. The first light she saw streaming through the trees and the sound of Octavia’s happiness is dulled every single day by the trauma of waiting to be picked off in any way possible.

“Finn.” And it wasn’t always out of control. Earth gave her moments of bliss. “My mother.” And in turned asked for her to repay the debt. “I was relieved when they sent us down on that pod because dead or alive I was finally free.” 

The light from the window behind Lexa frames her shoulder and her skin appears ghostly. Forewarning. “It’s just another prison, isn’t it? Being a leader.”

“Not always.” Lexa draws her out of the hopelessness she feels. “It only traps you if you let it. Leading isn’t all about looking into the eyes of your people and asking them to die for you- as often as it feels like it is.” She pauses. “It’s about knowing that you would do the same for them.”

“You won’t always feel like this.” Lexa continues. “War doesn’t last forever and we won’t always have to watch out for it either.”

In the end she reaches out for Clarke’s hand. “You haven’t led through peace yet.” She smiles hesitantly. 

“Through peace.” Clarke muses on the carefully chosen words. “It’s all just a phase. As quickly as it comes, it’s gone again. Wasn’t this supposed to be our peace?” She doesn’t know who she’s questioning here. Herself or Lexa. “The Mountain Men pacified, the threat gone. It’s only been a few months and here we are again talking about declaring war.”

“Chek au.” Lexa interrupts. When Clarke doesn’t meet her eyes, Lexa reaches for her, moving so that Clarke cannot look anywhere else. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” Clarke sighs, frustrated and lying.

“You talk about time and yet you waste so much of it talking around the truth.” 

Clarke sits up suddenly. She can’t have this conversation in the comfort of Lexa’s arms. “I want you-” She stares at her palms like they’re going to give her the answers. “-and this is easy to get caught up in, you’re what I need and I don’t want anything to stop where this is going but-”

“-it’s going to end.” Lexa sits up beside her and Clarke feels her knee bump against her. “It’s-”

Lexa ignores the finality of her words and kisses her. It stops the bubbling worry and stalls the panic she feels and achieves everything Lexa wanted to do to her. Clarke follows Lexa when she breaks the kiss and it stops her from saying anything else. Clarke rests her forehead against Lexa’s.

Lexa’s eyes are closed. “I’m here for as long as I can be. And while I’m here, I want to spend that time with you.”

*

Clarke sits on the steps outside for a while. The cold air kisses her face over and over and Clarke breathes out, pushing her hair back over her ears and closes her eyes. When the guard on watch behind her stops shuffling his feet Clarke opens her eyes, tilts her head back and looks at the clouds. 

The morning is still early and people are only just waking up. She stays like that until the chill reaches her elbows and she can’t put off shivering. 

The guard steps aside and Clarke pauses only to look at the stained glass in the entrance before heading to her room. 

Raven is hunched over the desk on a stool. Her right leg is propped on the leg while her left foot is planted on the stone floor. She doesn’t turn around when Clarke comes in, too busy messing with something on the desk, but when Clarke drags the second chair to the desk, Raven glances at her briefly. 

“You stayed up pretty late planning a war with your new friends.” Raven has a thin piece of metal between her lips so her voice is muffled but Clarke can feel the sarcasm all the same. “Or is there another reason you didn’t come home last night?”

‘Home’ is a joke but in even her sick haze Clarke had realized that she was sharing a room with Raven. And as a result, someone was there to notice her absence. But all of that is pushed to the back of her mind. Clarke watches as she tinkers with an old digital wristwatch, trying to bring it back to life, waiting for the right moment to ask.

“I need you to make something for me.”

Raven twists a screw in the back of the watch and when she flips it over little green numbers flash out. Raven takes the pin out of her mouth and reattaches the straps. “What do you need?” 

Clarke stalls over the words but eventually comes around to it. “Small metal band.”

“How small?” Raven is sizing in her head. “I’m no welder but I still have some of the old wristbands the Ark sent you down with. I can salvage something from that-”

“I need a ring.” Clarke stares at the watch because she doesn’t want to see the way Raven’s back straightens or how her eyes widen before they flood with hurt. Hurt that Raven shakes off every time Lexa comes into the room, every time something reminds her of Finn- things she has to push aside for the greater good. 

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Raven’s chin juts up. “Or are you not telling me something?”

Clarke purses her lips together and twists her fingers into her palms. Raven is trying to joke about it but there’s some things she can’t smile at and pretend not to notice. 

When she doesn’t answer, Raven puts the watch down. “Is it for you?”

“No.” Clarke shakes her head. “At least, not yet.”

Raven doesn’t press her and Clarke is grateful. Raven fixes the straps and starts putting her tools away in the little makeshift pouch that Clarke remembers Monty stitching for her. Clarke misses Monty. She misses them all. 

“Tell me I’m doing the right thing.”

“Usually these things are kind of a personal choice.”

“I mean with us, with the camp.”

Raven turns to her. Her foot drags against the floor. “We’re okay. All of us, we’re good. Clarke,” She reaches out and stops Clarke’s hand from playing with the watch on the table. “I can be that person that tells you that you’re doing a good job and you can pretend to believe it, or you can realize I don’t need to say anything to you. You know.”

Clarke feels her eyes watering and she lets out a forced sigh as Raven’s hand covers hers. 

“So,” Raven tilts her head up. “You thinking a plain band or do you have a real rock you want to hand over?”

Clarke’s laugh makes up for the single tear that escapes. She wipes it away and Raven doesn’t bring it up. 

They get breakfast. Clarke weaves in and out of the crowd, pulling Raven along with her while they visit the open markets. Clarke tries to be polite at the amount of people who bow their heads in respect. She’s still not used to that. 

Raven doesn’t say but she slows down and Clarke purposefully leads them to the central courtyard where they can sit down. Children scurry away and Clarke fears it’s because of them, until she spots their teacher counting them as they return to their lessons. 

She loses track of how long they stay there, mostly silent, just appreciating the company and the cool breeze.

Clarke really misses that refreshing break. 

Their return to the room prompts Raven’s impatience. The fire keeps spitting out at them. She drags the bag she brought with her to Polis onto her bed and rummages through it. 

The piece of metal Raven pulls from her pack is small, scrappy and dirty. But it’s the closest in size for what they need. Raven starts rubbing at it with a rag while Clarke stokes the fire in their room. It becomes uncomfortably hot and soon Clarke has to pull her jacket off. Even then she feels herself sweating through her shirt. 

“That’s as good as it’ll get for now.” Raven inspects the metal. “I’ll be able to shape it, make it smaller, once it gets hot enough.”

They don’t really have the tools for this. Raven has tongs and wraps an old shirt around her hand to ward off the heat of the fire. Clarke pulls the stool over and Raven sits on it next to a bucket of water. They’re ready for a long night. 

Clarke watches, fascinated as the metal turns orange. Sweat runs down the back of her neck and follows her spine. She sighs. Raven keeps her eye on her work. 

“It’s Lexa.” She admits. Clarke glances over at Raven and sees nothing more than the twitch of a reaction. Good or bad, she can’t tell. 

“I figured.” Raven watches the flames and reaches for another tool. Raven crudely starts to pull at the metal in the hope that it will bend and shape. 

The urge to apologize comes up, clogging up her throat, so she says nothing. Why would she apologize? The sounds of Raven’s screams that echo in her head when she’s at her lowest, feeling the thick hot blood pouring from Finn’s abdomen, and his final smile. 

That’s on her. Hers to carry.

“So?” Raven brings her out of her thoughts though she won’t look Clarke in the eye. 

“So what?” Clarke wipes her cheek- sweat, tears, does it matter?

Raven twists and the edges of the metal piece crossover. “Who asked who?” Clarke looks down but her smile gives it away and Raven laughs. “Right. Of course you did.”

“I just want something permanent.” Clarke says after a while. The last word comes out as a whisper. 

Raven’s free hand reaches by her neck, looking for something that isn’t there before dropping down. 

Clarke returns her gaze to the fire. 

She rubs the palms of her hands together. There have been moments that have felt like that. Those first moments on the ground when there was a future ahead of them that they could make, when they stayed to fight against the Grounders and claimed the Drop Ship as their home. When she woke up in the forest after fighting the pauna and heard Lexa speak softly and steadfast.

She’s addicted to that feeling. 

“There’s a good chance we’re going to be going to war again and a good chance it’ll be against the Ark.” Clarke says bluntly. 

Raven takes the ring away from the fire. 

“After that I don’t know what will happen. To us, to the Ark-” Clarke stares at the glowing metal. “But I won’t let everything fall apart. We’ve worked too hard.”

Sacrificed too much goes unsaid. 

“And this is your way of making sure of that?” Raven asks. 

“What?” Clarke is disturbed from her own thoughts. 

Raven’s concern comes through in her tone. “Are you doing this out of some weird sense of duty to protect the rest of us or are you doing this because it’s what you want?”

Clarke laughs quietly. The smile on her face lasts a little longer than her amusement. The idea of wanting something in the middle of all of this, that’s exactly what it is. Something that’s hers. Something that makes her feel like everything is almost normal. 

“I look at her and-” Clarke looks down at her hands. “She makes me feel safe.” There are a number of other things Clarke could add. That Lexa can make her feel a whole host of other things. Wanted. Lust. Joy. 

Raven dips the band in the water and steam rises from the surface. When she brings it back out Clarke knows that she’s going to have a job at getting it ready, it’ll need to be sized for Lexa, shined and more. It’s very warm when Raven drops it in her hand but there it is. 

Clarke turns it over in her hand. Raven clears her throat. “I’m happy for you.” Clarke wears an expression that says ‘really?’ and Raven scrunches her nose. “I am. I just- I don’t really think safety when I look at Lexa.”

Just a whole lot of death. 

“I get that from you though.” Raven’s words force her eyes up and her friend has a smile curling across her face. “Safety. Not the rest of the tingly feelings you probably associate with the Commander.”

Clarke shoves at Raven’s shoulder and giggles. Everything feels light, even the ring in her hand. “Thank you.”

Clarke puts the ring in the pocket of her leather jacket and stands. She needs air, to cool down from the intense heat of the room and time. She reaches the door and Raven calls out to her. 

“Hey Clarke.” She’s a picture of work. Sweat covered brow, stick clinging to her back and her hands covered in black marks where the paint from the tongs have chipped off. 

And Raven smiles. “Still pick me first?”

Clarke leans against the door and looks back at her with affection. “I’ll be back later.”

She exits just to hear Raven calling after her; “That’s not a no!”

*

News travels faster than Clarke expects so when Octavia rides back with Indra the first thing she does is seek Clarke out and pull her into a hug. “You kept that to yourself.” 

Octavia beams and Clarke watches the cut on her lip break out again. She reaches up instinctively while Octavia buzzes about the announcement. “What happened?” They’re in the middle of town, not too far from the stables or the healer so Clarke is ready to pull them all to see Nyko.

Clarke’s eyes flit over to Indra for an answer. “Training with the scouts.”

Octavia takes Clarke’s hand away. “Relax. Tree branch hit me in the mouth.”

Clarke looks at her with confusion. “How did you even pass the tests?”

“I had a good teacher.” Indra snorts and storms in a different direction while Octavia looks at her back fondly. “Now,” Octavia returns to Clarke. “Tell me what I missed.”

What she had missed was the pouring in of representatives of clans and villages that came with the announcement of the upcoming union between the the Commander and Clarke kom Skaikru. If she thought there weren’t enough people bowing at her before, that was nothing compared to now. 

Preparations were in full swing even before Octavia arrived. Clarke had taken to watching the people in Polis from one of the balconies in Lexa’s home. The changes from the distance were noticeable. Space being created. Tents being pitched just outside of the walls. The open grass before Lexa’s home slowly being plotted for the wedding- union- with tents and tables and hanging lights. Everything so much grander than the celebration festival for the fall of the Mountain. 

Octavia walks with her after letting Clarke fuss over her face while she gets filled in. Like Raven she teases Clarke about being the one to ask Lexa but listens thoughtfully when Clarke continues to skirt along the conversation she had with Lexa in bed. 

“I’m sure it was a fulfilling discussion.” Octavia rolls her eyes. 

“I can control myself.”

“I’m sure.” Octavia doesn’t believe her and Clarke doesn’t fuel her more by telling her anything else about that night. 

She does show her the ring though. Raven had since worked her resizing magic and Clarke had spent a few nights working a shine to it. It’s not perfect and Clarke doesn’t know if it will fit Lexa exactly but it’s something she wants to give to her on the night of the union. 

“I mean, tradition is tradition.” Octavia jokes. “Even if we have to pick and choose them.”

Clarke just wants Lexa to like it. 

“If I were you, I’d be more worried about the Trigedakru traditions.” Octavia throws that comment out and Clarke stops in her wandering through the market. “Lexa has gone through most of them with you. Right?”

Clarke shrugs and it doesn’t give off any confidence. It’s not that they haven’t talked about it. It’s just- there have been distractions.

Octavia purses her lips. “Ah.” She takes Clarke’s elbow. “We should probably talk to Lincoln.”

It takes them a while to find him. There are more and more people flooding into Polis by the day and Clarke realizes that there’s much more to the city than she has seen, because Polis just seems to handle the extra bodies. 

Lincoln leads a small group of men and women, skinning animals and hanging them to dry on wooden racks. He’s wearing less armor and Octavia touches his elbow as they walk by him.

He mutters something to the rest of the group and passes off his task to another but he comes over with a wry smile for them. “If you keep interrupting us, we will never be ready.”

Octavia scoffs. “And what makes you think that isn’t the plan?” She glances at Clarke with a shoulder shrug. “What? I could be planning to run off with you. What Lexa doesn’t know...”

Clarke shakes her head with a laugh. 

Octavia, happy that her joking has landed, turns back to Lincoln. “Actually, it’s more what Clarke doesn’t know. I was wondering if you had a minute to talk to her about the union ceremonies?”

“The Commander hasn’t?”

Clarke shakes her head. “We’ve talked but-” There’s a big ‘but’ since she has only seen Lexa at the end of long tired days and more often than not Lexa has kept her distance. Only slipping into bed when invited and opting to leave Clarke alone if she is asleep when Lexa returns. 

Lincoln looks behind him and back again. “It’s not a short conversation.”

Clarke smiles. “It never is.”

Lincoln brings them food a few hours later when he finally breaks from his job. Octavia occupied most of her time trying to make something out of the tangled mess of Clarke’s hair. The stories she passed on to Clarke are pieces that she’s gleamed and things she’s worked out from her time with Indra. 

“So the part about fighting each other?” Clarke asks.

Lincoln swallows his food and laughs. “An exaggeration.” He looks at Octavia who winks. “Unless you both really want to.”

Clarke shakes her head. No thank you.

“I was looking forward to that part.” Octavia jokes. 

“Save that for yours then.” Clarke teases. 

Octavia shoves something else in her mouth and Lincoln carries on. “There are details that I won’t be able to explain because each union is different. But it always starts with a hunt. Both of the parties pick their attendants and go out to bring back whatever they can.”

“There’s a meaning to that?”

“Being able to provide for one another.” Lincoln explains. “There are other symbols concerning what you bring back but they won’t be discussed until then.”

“What you bring back will then be prepared. Turned into food for the feast, pelts and bones used for clothes and weapons. Things that you will keep until they degrade back into the earth.” Lincoln says. “It can be used for the next part.” 

Octavia listens intently and Clarke realizes she’s not the only one learning here. 

“Creation. A gift from you to your lover.”

Clarke’s eyes dart away from Lincoln’s. 

“One which will be exchanged in private before the end of ceremonies. It can be whatever you want, Clarke.” Lincoln addresses her and Clarke looks up again. “After that, the two of you will receive tattoos.”

“They are traditional and of great importance to the connection you are forging with each other.”

“What do they look like?”

Lincoln puts his plate down. “They complement each other. Considering who Lexa is, and the tattoos that she already has-”

The ones Clarke has seen between the scars on her back and her arms flash through her mind. 

“-they will represent the earth. The vines and leaves of the trees. Symbols of our people.” Lincoln points behind his right ear. He presses his fingers to the soft skin at the top of the jaw. “They start here and work down-”

He makes a trail from behind his ear, winding to the back of his neck until his hand can’t follow. “Her ink will flow into what already exists but it will include similarities to the mark you will receive.”

It sounds big. From the back of her ear, down the back of her neck and dripping all the way to the base of her spine. 

“And for me?”

“You fell from the sky, Clarke.” Lincoln smiles. “Yours will be the first of it’s kind.”

The stars, the sky, the space- Clarke can only imagine what it will look like and it makes her hands itch to draw something to inspire it. 

“And after that?” Clarke asks. 

A small ceremony. Words exchanged. Watching Lexa take the ring from her with a small smile. 

“The rest of the night is yours.” Lincoln states. 

Octavia grins at her and Clarke rolls her eyes but she lets herself relax, imagining the relief she will feel once the ceremony is over, once everything has been done-

Once she’s together with Lexa. 

Octavia walks her back to Lexa’s home and leaves her at the door with all the teasing she can get away with before heading back to Lincoln’s. Clarke wanders the halls, her steps echoing in the familiarity of it all, until she reaches Lexa’s door. 

A creak reveals her sleeping. Clarke warms at the sight of Lexa’s naked back lit only by flickering candlelight and covered half by sheets and pelts. 

Clarke sheds her clothes and the nervous weight that they represent and tries not to-

“Clarke-”

-wake her. 

“I’m here.” Clarke presses a kiss to Lexa’s forehead. She pulls the covers over them and turns so that Lexa’s arms slide around her stomach. 

Safe. 

Lexa’s lips brush the back of her neck. “I missed you.”

Home.

*

The parade of people arriving in Polis seems never ending. The city expands in ways Clarke can’t imagine and at night before she goes to bed she watches the flickering torches with fascination. The importance of the event is slowly starting to sink in. 

And with that, the importance of Lexa to her people. 

She always knew that the position of the Commander meant so much more than a leader of an army, leader of people but the run up has changed that view again. Clarke is there to watch her in the mornings now, to see the way Lexa rises with the sun and how her back straightens with the practice of bearing a heavy weight. How her face sets in a stoic mask until she returns in the evening. 

People part in the streets when she walks by. Children reach to her. Elders bow. They stare at her like there’s a disbelief in everything she does. Like she’s more than mortal. 

Awe. 

Sometimes Clarke walks a few steps behind her to talk with Octavia or Lincoln and she just observes all of it. There’s a religious way, she thinks, to the way people treat her.

And that scares Clarke. That there is a pedestal Lexa sits upon, rising higher and higher. The higher she goes, the harder the fall will always be.

“Clarke.”

And she really doesn’t want to spend her time looking up, afraid that she will have to be called to catch her.

“Clarke.”

Clarke turns out of her lonely thoughts to the door where Raven is waiting. A chill follows her through the door and Clarke shivers. It spurs her back into action, dressing in her jeans, buckling her thick leather jacket over her- preparing for the hunt.

“I’ll be a few minutes.” Clarke says.

“Sure.” Raven replies, not believing a word. “If you don’t mind I’ll stay and make sure it’s only five. Octavia and the rest of your party are starting to get antsy.”

Clarke tightens the holster around her waist. She checks her gun even though she’s cleaned it several times in the days leading up to this. “It takes as long as it takes.”

Raven scoffs. “It wouldn’t do well to have you leave after Lexa. I’m sure that’s against the rules.”

It is. Leaving at the same time is important to make sure they don’t cross over into each other’s marked territory. It’s mostly helpful in not accidentally spearing the neighboring hunters. Clarke is pretty sure death does not make a very good wedding.

Raven leans against the door waiting. She’s wrapped in her red jacket but there’s a small wreath of flowers around her loose hair that makes Clarke stop in her tracks. Her attention flusters Raven for a second. “I got cornered by some baby grounders on the way here.”

“Guess that makes you the flower girl.” Clarke smiles. She walks over and fixes the side of the crown where it was falling and touches Raven’s face. 

Before she can say anything, Raven interrupts her. “Are you happy?”

Clarke takes her hand away. She stares at Raven’s worried eyes and sees a world of waiting for Clarke to say the wrong thing. To say that there’s something else. To say that it’s not too late.

Behind all that she sees the gleam and the playfulness of Finn, his easy grin and his overwhelming and innocent desire for peace. 

It brings tears to her eyes and a nod. “Yes.”

Raven nods in return and that answer quells everything else. “Alright. Let’s go.”

The walk is slow to let Raven lead her but eventually Clarke makes it to the entrance of the house to where her hunting party awaits. 

Octavia’s eyes are running black and she’s geared up. Lincoln and some of his closest friends, including Nyko, stand behind her watching Clarke come down the stairs. 

Octavia grins and Clarke notices the stripe of blue adorning her shoulder. They’re her people. “Hey chief. You ready?”

Some of the men and women pass around a bottle that is sure to be moonshine but she doesn’t partake. Lincoln gets them all moving. With a last hug for Raven, who she’s not sure when she’ll see again, Clarke lets herself be led.

Outside is glowing. The afternoon is dawning and the light is glistening from the decorations and through the trees. Clarke can smell wood burning and she starts to feel the warmth of the fires as they walk to the middle of the city. They’re heading for the main gates to meet with Lexa and her attendants, but the journey is a chance for the people of Polis to pay their respect to her as she walks. 

Octavia and Nyko flank her to stop anyone getting too enthusiastic but by the end of the short walk Clarke is passing off the flowers she’s been gifted with so that she isn’t throwing them all over Lexa when she finally sees her.

Their party opens up and Clarke catches a glimpse of Lexa’s attendants. Indra stands holding a spear nearest the gates and Clarke touches her stomach, where a faint scar reminds her of the last time she was that close to Indra. Indra is followed by the archer that took over from Gustus and several other men with scarred faces. Lexa’s party looks more intimidating than Clarke’s.

Lincoln steps out of the way and Clarke finds Lexa holding the reins of her horse, waiting. Lexa has abandoned the ceremonial cloak and shoulderguard in favour of lighter, warmer armor. Strapped to her waist are more knives and weaponry than Clarke has seen her carry. 

The knives distract her for longer than they should and Clarke jumps a little when Lexa reaches her. 

There’s nothing left to say but Clarke just enjoys the momentary closeness as someone speaks at the entrance to the gate. Naturally she pays some attention to the warnings and the importance being placed on this hunt but Lexa is looking at her from the corner of her eye. Stealing glances like children.

Her horse is brought forward and with most of the village as witness, Lexa presses a kiss to her cheek. “Be safe.”

Clarke throat dries up. “You too.”

She steers left and Clarke takes them right. 

*

Clarke walks with a limp, without her horse, several hours later. It spooked and jolted her from it’s back after they’d come across a wild panther.

Her first reaction had been pleased because what, other than an oversized gorilla, was more impressive than a panther?

Her second reaction had been a lot of pain and having Octavia drag her along the forest floor away from the danger. Clarke had managed to shoot in the direction of the animal but it outran Lincoln’s attempt to kill it. 

So she was horseless and prizeless. They march on and Clarke ignores the joking way Octavia points out her failure at tracking and ability to quieten her steps. Clarke wasn’t born for this. Hunting is not her element. And if she’s correct in remembering, the last hunt she went on ended with Anya capturing her to play field doctor. 

Everything comes with a bad memory.

Especially when it’s getting dark, people are getting hungry and nervous and Clarke’s mind wonders if Anya was alive she’d be working as part of Lexa’s party.

Lincoln crouches and touches the muddy floor. Clarke can’t see anything there but he raises a hand. 

Octavia takes a look and whispers back. “Deer tracks.”

Clarke kneels and tries to commit the track to memory. Anything to improve. Anything to prove that she’s not out here wasting her time.

“Which direction?”

Lincoln observes her as Clarke tries to spot similar tracks on the ground around them. It takes a minute or two but she spots them leading behind a tree.

“Keep your head up. Lighter steps.” Lincoln advises. 

Clarke pauses to fix the bandage on her leg so it’s more bearable to stand up straight. The faster she can kill something, the faster they can go back. 

The forest starts to light up around them the deeper they go into the woods. Clarke reaches out to touch the glowing shrubbery and moss as it leads her after the tracks. Lincoln carries his bow, armed and ready, for when they spot it. 

When they do it’s framed by water trickling down a cave wall and the lights from the glowing moss. A stag that drinks from a small pool of water left by earlier rainfall. Clarke stops suddenly.

“Wait.” Clarke keeps her hand in the way of Lincoln’s sight. The stag doesn’t move, not sensing them and Clarke holds her breath.

It has to be pure, that was one of the conditions. Anything they bring back has to be free of sickness or mutation. From this angle Clarke can only see one side of it’s face and it’s ironic that the first animal she ran into on the ground is the one she comes to face now.

Biting her lip she slowly lowers her hand and lets Lincoln take it out. 

The arrow flies, tearing through the air before piercing the animal’s neck. Clarke sprints as fast as she can to reach it before it panics and flees with what life it has left. 

The stag doesn’t struggle after it falls. Clarke skids on her knees and traps the beast’s leg under her shin. It doesn’t struggle-

Clarke holds onto the arrow, keeping the stag’s neck as still as possible-

“Get my knife.” Clarke orders. Octavia passes it over to her and with a steady hand Clarke puts the stag out of it’s choking misery. 

It’s final stillness lets her breathe even with all of the blood staining her hands. 

Lincoln takes over from her, checking the carcass. “It’s clean.”

No signs of infection or mutation. Clarke lets out a sigh of relief and stares up at the dark sky. 

Octavia claps her shoulder. “I mean, I would have done it much faster but- well done.” Laughter catches them all and no one fights when Nyko suggests taking shelter in the cave for the night.

Clarke digs her knife in the soft mud to clean the blood from it and Lincoln snaps the arrow from the stag’s neck. “I’ll clean this up.” He says. 

Gratefully Clarke stumbles into the cave and lets Nyko check her injury while Octavia busies herself with making them all a fire. Lincoln takes the stag aside and prepares it for the journey back to Polis. 

At some point she falls asleep and is only woken by the soft drizzle of a morning shower of rain blowing into the cave. The fire is nothing more than smoke now and Clarke misses the warmth of it. 

Octavia is up already, kicking things and covering their tracks while Lincoln has achieved the impossible and retrieved her horse. He shrugs when Clarke asks and Clarke decides to just go with it. The stag is strapped to the back of the horse and Clarke realizes just how small the stag looks in comparison.

“We’re an hour in this direction.” Nyko points. Octavia passes some food to Clarke and wordlessly they start marching towards Polis once more.

*

The gates are already open for them when they arrive and Clarke feels like they’ve been gone much longer than a night by the reaction of the people. Many start smiling when they spot the stag strapped to the back of their horse and lead her in the right direction.

She understands their joy a little more when she finds Lexa, still dressed as she was the day before, sitting on a log with her boot resting on the head of a large stag.

“Oh.” Clarke notes. Lexa’s stag is definitely bigger.

That’s definitely not the thought going through Lexa’s mind as her blank expression changes slightly, as she looks pleased to see Clarke and the animal she has brought back with her.

Lincoln jumps to the rescue as usual while others cut the stag down from the horse. “It’s a very good sign when both parties bring back the same animal.”

“Even if hers is bigger?” Clarke says. 

Lincoln laughs. “I’m not sure size really matters.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. Octavia tries to hide her own amusement by pretending to check that all her knives are still attached to her belt.

Clarke’s stag is brought down next to Lexa’s and, while Clarke ignores the noticable size difference, Lexa walks over to her. 

“How long have you been waiting out here?” Clarke asks curiously.

“I did not spend the night in the forest if that’s what you’re asking.” Lexa replies with a hint of teasing. Before Clarke can raise a defense, Lexa moves on. “But I am happy to see you.”

Lexa smiles and Octavia and Lincoln give them some privacy. “Bringing back the same animal is a sign of good fortune.”

If someone had told her that several months ago she would have struggled to believe them, but now Clarke lets those words rest with a smile. 

Someone comes to urge them along and Lexa bows her head, apologizing for hurrying Clarke. 

Lexa tangles their fingers together while everyone is distracted. There’s still the thought of having to make something out of stag to present to Lexa but the little contact makes the time seem less. 

*

There are a great many things Clarke excels at, skinning a stag to make something out of its fur is not one of them. She’s fine with the blood and the guts but it’s the waiting and the patience that gets to her. 

And the planning. 

Finally Indra takes some sort of long suffering pity on her and grumbles out that the Commander could use a new cloak. After waiting a day and a half for the pelt to dry out, Indra fails to mention that the item she is helping Clarke make consists of a long draping cloak that is still very much attached to the head of the stag which, hollowed out and the skull passed to someone else, will make for a terrifying stag hood. 

Indra inspects the final product with a quick nod while Clarke covers her mouth wondering if she has time to make something else for Lexa out of the horns of the stag. Something a little less intimidating. 

That thought is shot when Clarke is ushered out, with people carrying the gift behind her, to where Lexa awaits. 

She hands the cloak to Lexa shyly, suddenly unsure of whether Indra led her in the right direction. The flash of amusement and joy that passes over Lexa’s face when she accepts it eases those worries. 

Lexa hands off the cloak to Lincoln who looks somewhat jealous. He lifts a bag from over his shoulders and hands it to Lexa. Lexa thrusts it out in front of her and offers the bag to Clarke. 

Clarke looks at the bag in her hands, running her fingers over the fur carefully. Lexa’s made her a satchel. Leather straps are attached to the fur, made from the stag’s pelt and when she opens the inside she finds a small box with vials-

Vials that looks like the ones Lincoln and Nyko carry with them, followed by a small handwritten explanation of what each is for. Lexa made her a medical pack. 

When she looks up Lexa is watching her with anticipation. (As is most of the room.)

“Thank you.” 

Someone takes the bag from her and Indra whispers that she has only a few moments to change before they’re ushered into another room to get their tattoos. 

They’re taken to yet another room with a woman sitting in between two flat cots. There’s vials of colorful and black ink with needles of different sizes on a table in between the cots. 

“Heda.” The woman gestures to the table and it’s just the three of them so Lexa has no qualms about removing her shirt and laying face down on the cot. 

It’s not the first time that Clarke has seen Lexa without a shirt by any extent, but the light coming from the torches show off the scars on her back and ribs much more than Clarke remembers. There are other, smaller tattoos and the circular burn marks on her shoulder marking her kills in combat. 

Lexa looks over at Clarke and down while the woman sets up. Clarke watches with some fascination the way the artist sets up her needles and moves Lexa’s neck to where she wants it. Other than herself, Clarke has never seen anyone handle Lexa like this.

Watching doesn’t make Clarke any less nervous for her own session. Lexa clenches her fists tightly and her jaw is tense as the artist jabs the needle in a furious, precise pattern. Clarke eventually moves to rest her hand on Lexa’s lower back while she can and it eases some of the obvious pain that Lexa is going through. 

Slowly, Clarke begins to see the design emerge. The tiny roots swirl from behind her ear and grow thicker as they splay across the back of her neck like a tree trunk. The ink is black and green but her skin bleeds from the needles. Trailing from her ear the ink leads directly down her spine before exploding into bursts of lightening that scatter across her lower back, lines criss crossing over the scars littering her back.

Clarke has to move her hand for the last parts on Lexa’s spine. Those marks make Lexa jump and the artist mumbles something under her breath that makes Lexa relax.

Lexa urges her to drift off for a while, holding her hand, as time stretches on. Clarke wakes up again when everything is red and stinging on Lexa’s back as she groans and pushes up on her knees. 

Clarke’s time laying on the cot is harder than watching it. The pain doesn’t subside after the first few minutes and she presses her forehead against the cot until Lexa grabs her hand, letting her squeeze her fingers when the needles pressed harder. Lexa lies beside her on the other cot, recovering, between watching Clarke and closing her own eyes. 

This goes on for some time. Stab, repeat, stab, repeat. The untranslatable mumbling from the tattoo artist is the only thing Clarke listens to after a while in the hope it will distract her from the pain. 

She moves from her ear, across her neck, down the base of her spine and down and down. Clarke apologises to Lexa when the needles get that far down as the pain becomes too unbearable for her to be quiet throughout it. 

It feels like she can finally breathe fresh air when the sounds of the needles being put down reach her ears. It almost has her gasping and Lexa sits up, making sure she doesn’t try to move until the stinging lessens. Cool water is dabbed over the wounds and Clarke watches Lexa tend to her, exchanging bloodied rags for clean ones. 

The tattoos, Lincoln said, were meant to be similar. So the roots of Lexa’s that burst from her ear should be stationed at the base of Clarke’s spine. Lines of lightning flutter from behind Clarke ear, she assumes, trailing down like nerves into more solid branches and thinner roots. From the sky to the earth.

Clarke reaches out and hooks her hand around the back of Lexa’s knee, the only thing close enough for her to touch, and tries to get her panicked breathing under control. 

Lexa leaves the rag on the back of her neck and pushes Clarke’s hair out of her eyes. Her hand gently moves and hovers over the lines on Clarke’s back. Goosebumps follow the trail and Clarke pushes up to meet the touch despite the pain it brings. 

Beauty and tragedy. 

The sound of revelry carries on from outside the room and Clarke knows that people are waiting for them. But they’ve been waiting for days and judging by the glazed eyes she’d seen it’s not been a terrible wait. 

“Can I just lay here for a while?” Clarke asks. 

“Take a moment.” Lexa touches the back of her neck with a cold rag. “They can’t go on until we’re ready.”

*

When they wake they find a small tray of food waiting for them that they eat gratefully. Clarke feels stronger than she did before sleeping but still has Lexa help her into her thin shirt once again. There’s no way she can wear her bra while the tattoos are still stinging so she layers her jacket over her with some difficulty. 

Lexa struggles on, putting on her shoulder guard, wincing when it pinches the skin. Clarke stops her before they leave the artist’s room to look at the details behind Lexa’s ear. The green ink is just visible in the light. 

They step out together and the real ceremony sweeps them up.

Clarke’s not entirely sure what she was expecting. Maybe a second more to adjust to the cool air and the pain that comes with moving. She gets neither and instead Raven separates them, leading Clarke to one side with a worried look at the pain on Clarke’s face. 

“Did they stab you or something?”

“Or something.” Clarke grits her teeth. They don’t have a lot of time, ducking into a nearby tent, Clarke sets about making herself as comfortable as possible. 

Raven does her best to wash her back and clean her face. Octavia is somewhere helping other preparations and for the first time Clarke wishes that she had all of her friends around her to go through this with her. 

Raven brings her jacket up again and Clarke shakes her head. “It’s too heavy. I feel like it’s suffocating me when I put it on.”

“You don’t really have much of a wardrobe to be choosey here.” Raven scoffs. Ignoring Clarke’s huff she pulls off the red puffer jacket she’s wearing and motions for Clarke to lift her arms up. “You want a jacket or not?”

Clarke groans as she puts it on. “Thanks.”

“I figure you’ll be the one looking after me if I get a cold so, enjoy this.” Raven jokes, making sure that Clarke looks presentable. She catches sight of the little lightning lines behind her ear as she quickly works Clarke’s hair into a single side braid. 

“Don’t.” Clarke warns.

“What?” Raven plays off the fact she was about to poke the ink very well but Clarke knows. 

Octavia pokes her head inside the tent. “The Commander is ready.”

Clarke tries to remember the few times she’d spoken with her mom about marriage when she was younger. It was always loving and warm but nothing like the few films she’d seen on it from the old Earth. Nothing like the feeling she has in the pit of her stomach now. 

Where the Ark and old Earth traditions always seemed stiff and sanitized, the Grounder traditions put Clarke at ease. 

She doesn’t walk to an alter but to Lexa’s throne, to where Lexa sits with the paint running from her eyes down her cheeks. The light catching the small metal sun placed on her brow. Lexa’s red sash falls over her shoulder and down to the floor by her feet. Everything looks grand and regal and when Clarke steps into her view, Lexa stands immediately. 

Soft drumming starts and though Clarke feels like they’re the only two people that matter, Lexa gives way to an elderly man, propping himself up against a staff as he calls for Clarke to join Lexa by the throne. 

Clarke takes Lexa’s hands in her own after some prompting from the elder and a small affectionate smile from Lexa, who finds her nerves amusing it seems. It’s then that Clarke really realizes just how many people are there watching this. Octavia has pushed her way to the front with Raven, Indra hovers near the edge of the crowd watching Lexa with pride- people that Clarke just can’t count.

Her attention is brought back to her hands when the elder drapes a purple strip of fabric across Clarke’s wrist, twisting it so essentially fasts her hands with Lexa’s. 

The elder starts speaking in Trigedasleng about the profound, eternal nature of the union but Clarke’s too focused on Lexa and Lexa’s lips as she translates the more obscure words. He pauses finally after a few minutes. 

“Repeat after him.” Lexa whispers. 

“Ai sonraun laik yu sonraun-” He drones out and Clarke takes a second to figure out what the words say.

“In English, if it’s easier.” Lexa murmurs.

Clarke feels Lexa squeeze her hands and she repeats. “My life is your life-”

“-Osir keryon ste teina.” He continues on, nonplussed by her English recitation. 

“-Our souls are entwined.” Clarke licks her lips as the words sink in.

“-Oso gonplei nou ste odon nowe.”

Lexa’s eyes never leave hers and Clarke finishes out the words. “Our fight is never over.”

The elder nods with a smile and turns his attention to Lexa, who doesn’t give him the chance to start before she is repeating the words. 

“Ai sonraun laik yu sonraun, osir keryon ste teina. Oso gonplei nou ste odon nowe.”

Clarke’s stumbling English translation is nothing impressive compared to the way Lexa says the words. They’re assured and fluent with a voice that never wavers for a second. She recites them like she’s waited a lifetime to say them. 

The elder unsheathes the knife from his side sash, Clarke recognizes it as the same knife Lexa had when they first met. He carefully slides the knife underneath the purple fabric and cuts the fabric away but in the most important ways Clarke still feels tied to Lexa. 

The old films play in her mind and the old tinny speakers declare the time for her to ‘kiss the bride!’. She smiles and lets Lexa press her forehead to hers. The weight of the world is spread across both of their shoulders. The happy silence is broken by a loud whistling coming from Octavia. When Clarke looks Raven is covering Octavia’s mouth to stop another outburst.

The moment is gone but they turn toward Lexa’s people and Clarke has the sudden realization that these are her people now too. 

Young and old. Warriors and healers. From Polis to the outskirts of Lexa’s coalition. Their coalition.

Lexa nudges her nose against Clarke’s. “Now the night is ours.”

Clarke plans to savor every moment.

The morning brings war.


	5. Act Five

*

“What does it mean to your people?”

 

Clarke opens her eyes and her gaze is drawn down the length of Lexa’s body. Half covered in furs and sheets, they lie together, Clarke’s head resting against Lexa’s chest. It’s dark and Clarke can’t see anything out of the window. Even the stars have hidden themselves away. 

 

Lexa twists the ring on her finger and it catches the flickering light of the candle beside the bed. 

 

“A commitment. A declaration of devotion.” Clarke looks at the ring and she can remember all the time it took to shine and mold. And the way her hand shook after the ceremony when she privately presented it to Lexa. Clarke reaches out and covers Lexa’s hand with hers. “But it’s also- symbolizes the promises I made to you.”

 

The spoken words they shared before their people. The announcement of their union. 

 

A physical object to add to the lines and colors that flow from her ear to her spine. The ink has been covered in a cream to settle the inflammation but she can feel it pricking along her back.

 

Clarke turns her head and presses a light kiss to Lexa’s shoulder. “It’s a tradition we kept on the Ark-” She murmurs all the reasons and symbols over Lexa’s skin. Clarke had heard the same words from her father when she’d asked all those years ago. 

 

It feels so natural to have his words flowing from her in this moment. 

 

Lexa listens carefully and when Clarke finishes, turning her head and closing her eyes, Lexa brings her hand up to push her hair back. The ring catches on the strands of her hair. “Thank you.”

 

For sharing. For the night. For everything.

 

There are no words that can properly describe how happy she is now. Silence serves her better. 

 

*

 

The road welcomes them back with open arms. Their horses trample over the leaves and the shoots of grass peeking from under the mud. Lexa rides ahead slightly, knowing the path better than the rest of their party, and Clarke stares at her, occasionally getting flashes of Lexa’s hand on the reins. And the flash of a ring that follows. 

 

The glimpses have her smiling and Raven stops asking what it’s about when she catches on. 

 

Their journey out is the first of many. While the news of their union spreads quickly, Clarke learns that Lexa has a duty to visit certain villages-make an appearance with certain councils and generals in accordance with their union. That includes the NavYard, their logical first destination.

 

It doesn’t seem like much time has passed since she left but Clarke still feels homesick, if she can even call it that, when they ride towards the gates a few days later.

 

Bellamy has done as promised and raised the defenses high. A horn sounds when they get within eye sight of the sentry posts. Clarke hears the sounds of movement and grinding of the gates opening. Lexa stops their approach and waits as a lone figure slips out of the gate and comes to meet them.

 

Clarke breaks into a smile. “Monty.” She’s the first to dismount and pass Lexa’s horse to embrace her friend. 

 

Monty holds onto her like it’s been years. “It’s good to see you.” He whispers into her ear. His chin moves along her shoulder and she thinks he must be looking at Lexa because he separates from Clarke to extend a hand to Lexa.

 

It strikes her that every time they return there are still those in their camp getting used to the  Trigedakru. Those that came to the camp on Lexa’s orders are no doubt waiting inside to greet them as well.

 

Lexa grasps his arm and Monty looks pleased. His eyes glance between them both before he releases Lexa’s hand and nods to Clarke. “That’s new.”

 

Clarke’s fingers rise to the back of her ear, to the tender marked skin, and as she does Lexa turns to her. With that small motion, Monty notices the ink swirling from Lexa’s neck as well.

 

His small; “Oh.” is lost in the sudden restlessness of the horses and the rest of their party. Raven calls out to him and as Monty steps past Clarke spots a bloom of white flowers at the edge of their path. 

 

Lexa steps aside for just a second and Clarke is already gently pulling at the stem of the biggest and plucking it from the ground. The white petals are unblemished by dirt and Clarke twirls it between her fingers.

 

The rocks on the ground crunch beneath her boots when she turns. Lexa looks at the offering in Clarke’s hand curiously. 

 

“Earth skills didn’t really provide much information about plants that wasn’t practical.” Clarke enjoys the sudden discomfort that flashes over Lexa’s face when she reaches up to touch Lexa’s hair. “But it’s pretty.”

 

A hundred little thoughts must fly through Lexa’s mind as Clarke scratches the skin just above Lexa’s ear, adjusting the way her braid sits for a purpose. 

 

“It’s just Monty.” Clarke twists the stem of the flower between her fingers while Lexa watches Monty out of the corner of her eye. “I promise he won’t tell.”

 

Monty coughs and turns his back on them, continuing to help Raven, as if to prove this point and Lexa nods for Clarke to take a step forward. The tension in Lexa’s face fades at the closeness and Clarke is near enough to see the twitch of her lips when she brazenly slides the flower behind her ear. 

 

“There,” Clarke traces her finger behind the flower and touches the beginning of Lexa’s tattoo. “-that wasn’t so hard.”

 

With the dismounting and distraction of Monty taking attention away from them, Lexa presses forward and kisses her. Pulling at Clarke’s bottom lip for a second before her horse begins to get restless with their stalling.

 

Clarke steps away from the temptation and notes how the flower contrasts to Lexa’s painted cheeks and how it brightens her eyes. She takes her hand away from Lexa’s jaw, finally, focusing on their route into camp. Lexa lets out a little puff of breath, full of amusement at Clarke’s reaction. Clarke’s lost that one.

 

Clarke leads them in but the trailing party are quick to follow and spread out. Indra, who has only set foot in the NavYard when the floor was ash and bones, treads carefully as if she still feels her warriors beneath her feet. Octavia reins in her excitement to be back at her home camp in the presence of her mentor but she still scans the crowds for her brother. 

 

Lexa is a few steps behind, watching the sentries on the walls with their guns and looking up at the tall, weathered front of the dropship. 

 

Raven takes longer but she settles inside the gate and whistles jokingly at one of the passing members of camp. The young boy looks confused for a second until Raven shoves her bag at him. “It’s good to be home.” 

 

Clarke might have to remind her not to abuse the people. 

 

“Where to now?” Lexa asks when she’s beside her again.

 

Clarke opens her mouth in the hope of explaining her plans to introduce Lexa to the rest of camp and for her and the rest of their people to fully enjoy the time they have within the walls of the NavYard. She wants Lexa to see the buildings Monty has started to plan, the flourishing trade they’re beginning to have with nearby villages, the mixture of metal and earth and how well things are progressing. 

 

That is, until Bellamy quick marches down the ramp of the dropship with eyes that tell her to run and stay at the same time. His wild hair has grown longer in their time apart and if he’s surprised to see Lexa, he hides it well. Octavia takes a step forward, in front of Indra to greet him, but she stops short when Indra holds her arm out in front of her. 

 

He has a gun on his hip but the words are the bullet. 

 

“Clarke,” Bellamy’s eyes flicker over to Lexa and it’s out of respect for the journey they’ve made that he nods to the Commander but then he’s looking at Clarke again. “I couldn’t reach you on the radio to warn you.”

 

“Warn me?” Clarke shifts and feels for the gun on her waist. “About what?”

 

Raven sees her first. “Abby?”

 

Lexa’s expression doesn’t change. Bellamy moves aside to unblock Clarke’s view of the dropship entrance. Everyone seems to have a hand on a weapon and Clarke didn’t really expect this on their homecoming. 

 

Her mother looks like she’s seen more of the sun. Her hair is lighter and longer but the thinness of her lips betrays her discomfort at being so far away from Camp Jaha. She looks at Clarke like it’s been years and Clarke, for a second, forgets that it was her mother that imprisoned her in the Ark until Octavia freed her. Seconds like that have a way of taking away all the bad memories she associates with her mom. 

 

But then the warmth rushes back against her will and-

 

“Clarke.”

 

Clarke looks to her side where Lexa has a hand on her knife. To Octavia who looks at Abby with distrust. To Indra and Bellamy who are just waiting for the go ahead. To Raven who looks unapologetically happy despite it all. 

 

Clarke moves forward, a silent plea to all to stand down, and the rest of the camp gets back to their work with a few nosy eyes glancing back at the stand off. “Mom.”

 

They meet at the edge of the ramp. 

 

“I wasn’t aware that the Commander was visiting.” Abby says.

 

Octavia mumbles ‘why would you be’ under her breath and Clarke sees Raven elbow her in the side in response. 

 

Clarke returns her eyes to her mom’s face while Abby looks over Clarke’s shoulder. She can picture Lexa staring straight back at her, unflinching and unconcerned with Abby’s feelings, even with that flower in her hair. That last thought has Clarke smiling.

 

“She’s not.” Clarke offers. When her mother doesn’t look down at her again Clarke summons her stubbornness to the front of her mind. 

 

Abby glances back. “Where have you been?”

 

Clarke steps up. “For the last year or just now?” She stares at her mother. This isn’t a conversation she saw herself having so soon. It’s all new to her too. Somehow. 

 

“Bellamy tells me that you’ve been to their capital.” Abby changes the subject.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Though he wouldn’t tell me why. Or what it had to do with the increase in movement in the woods.” Abby speaks in a clipped tone. “We had hundreds of grounders passing by the borders of Camp Jaha.”

 

Clarke freezes. 

 

“We thought the Commander was gathering her forces.”

 

Something sinks in her stomach and Clarke steps down the ramp, hoping to find some solid ground. “What did you do?”

 

Clarke can almost see something like guilt written on Abby’s face. Clarke turns to look behind her so Lexa, who has hovered politely at a distance, can see the subtle plea in her expression.

 

“What’s that?” Abby has her attention again and Clarke is counting her heartbeats like she’s counting the crunch of the steps Lexa and Indra take. 

 

Clarke takes a step back and Abby takes one forward, towering over her and brushing her fingertips over her hair, pushing it back to where Clarke’s skin is still pink and healing. The dark swirling tattoo. 

 

When Abby gets a glimpse of it, the lines on her forward get deeper, concern painted across her face. An almost clinical worry passes over her and she takes hold of Clarke’s chin, tilting her head to the side and exposing the tattoo as much as possible before it disappears down the back of her shirt. 

 

It’s uncomfortable but not something Clarke is entirely unused to.

 

“Clarke-” Abby’s disappointment sounds out in brief before her wrist is snatched away from Clarke.

 

Indra has a grip on Abby’s wrist and a pleased expression on her face at Abby’s pained response. Lexa rounds on the scene, putting herself between Clarke and her mom before the dust can settle. Lexa has a knife tucked against Abby’s collar before anyone can stop her.

 

That’s when the Ark guards appear from inside the drop ship, guns pointed on the nearest targets, just waiting for the order to shoot. 

 

“For a second I thought you were alone.” Clarke deadpans. 

 

Indra doesn’t release Abby and the guards don’t move. Her mom glares through the pain and her gaze fixes on the way Lexa stands strong in front of her daughter. To the flower in her hair and the way the white petals disappear into her braids and bleed down into the ink.

 

Same as her. 

 

Abby looks over Lexa’s shoulder at her daughter. She’s scared but she won’t show it. “Tell her to stand down.”

 

“I don’t give her orders.” She can still feel the grip her mother had on her chin.  “Tell your men to put down their guns.”

 

Lexa sures up her grip on the knife and widens her stance, almost imperceptible to anyone who isn’t watching her closely but Clarke’s always watching her closely. ”Put down your weapons.” Lexa intones, pressing her knife down ever so slightly. 

 

“Chancellor.” The guard with his gun aimed right at Lexa’s head only says Abby’s title but all Clarke can hear is ‘let me shoot’. The sight of a drop of blood coming from where Lexa presses her knife purposely doesn’t help. 

 

“Put them down.” Clarke looks straight up at the guard, tries not to let her fear for Lexa bleed through into her voice. 

 

Lexa remains where she is. “Clarke.” Her tone is short. Clarke knows she’s as aware of the gun pointed at her head as Abby is aware of the knife at her throat. Knows what it means same as Abby and Clarke and the rest of their spectators. 

 

Lexa hesitates and Clarke knows she’s weighing the risks in her mind. Abby may not have the numbers, what’s three guards to an entire burgeoning settlement of hundreds at this point? But one bullet could render all of that irrelevant. Without Lexa--

 

Clarke won’t entertain the thought. 

 

In her periphery Clarke sees that Bellamy has his gun raised in the general direction of the guards but he’s only one man and even if he could take one out, even if that’s what Clarke ordered him to do, it wouldn’t save Lexa’s life or the lives potentially caught in the crosshairs.

 

Her body starts moving before Clarke’s brain can catch up and then she’s standing in front of the guard whose gun was aimed at Lexa only now the barrel is pressed right up against her own chest. “This is my village and if you’re going to shoot anyone it’ll have to be me.”

 

“Lower your weapons.” Abby orders. 

 

“ _ Breik em au. _ ” 

 

Indra releases Abby’s wrist. There’s already a red mark forming in her wake. Lexa and Indra turn their gazes to the guards and their guns. Clarke squares up to them, she can breathe now that there’s not a gun pointed at Lexa. She doesn’t recognize any of their faces. They’re new and they don’t know not to test her. 

 

“We should move inside.” Clarke says. Lexa lowers the knife and it leaves a small knick on Abby’s skin, barely enough for more than a few drops of blood but enough to earn her a glare as she pulls back.

 

Bellamy marches forward and blocks the entrance to the dropship. Beside him is an empty barrel that he positions in front of them all. With a challenge in his eyes and a reassuring nod to Clarke he states: “No weapons inside.”

 

The guards falter and the warriors grin. 

 

Bellamy is thorough in his search for weapons and Clarke is grateful. As much as she knows that her mom needs to know about the change in her relationship with Lexa and the Trigedakru, it’s not the most pressing issue on her mental agenda. 

 

When they push through the draped parachute material they’re met with the now-tidy workspaces, freshly scrubbed floors that have no traces of Murphy’s sickness or Anya’s blood. The med station in the corner is packed away neatly and it’s obvious that no one has needed to use it recently. The ladder in the center of the room awaits. Clarke turns with her proposition.

 

“We’ll go upstairs. Mom.” Clarke says. “Lexa. Octavia.”

 

Abby motions to one of her guards and then back at her daughter. “After you.”

 

Clarke goes up, followed by her mother, Lexa, Abby’s guard and Octavia who stares down at Indra with a promise before she shuts the hatch to the lower level. Octavia becomes responsible, in Clarke and Indra’s eyes, for the safety of her Commander.

 

This level is familiar territory for Lexa. Clarke remembers their journey back from the Ice Nation and the short time they spent together here. It’s easy then, for Clarke to take comfort in the privacy and prepare herself for what’s to come. 

 

Lexa, free of her weapons, unclasps her shoulder guard and places it on one of the cots. Abby keeps an eye on her as she does, looking so comfortable in a space that’s not her own. A space that’s quite clearly Clarke’s. She looks smaller without it and the guard, with his cursory glance, doesn’t see a threat in her lean form. Octavia takes a stand by Lexa’s side when Lexa sits on the cot. 

 

Clarke stays standing displaying none of Lexa’s lived in comfort on the cusp of deadly situations. 

 

“Every time I see you there’s something different about you.” 

 

Clarke looks away from Octavia and Lexa and to her mother. Abby’s eyes have softened and the dim light of the upper level eases away the worried lines on her face. Some of Clarke’s earliest memories are of that expression looking down on her, reading her stories, and smiling as Clarke’s tiny hands traced her face.

 

It’s hard to let go of those thoughts but when they rise up again Clarke takes a breath. The back of her ear itches and reminds her that she’s far away from the stars. Earth tethers her now.

 

“I didn’t expect this.” Abby gestures around the room but Clarke knows she’s talking about their camp. The village life that has sprung in her absence. “Or the welcome.”

 

Bellamy’s tight lipped expression outside had hinted at everyone’s discomfort. Octavia picked up on it quicker. “You can’t think that anyone here would be too happy to have you marching into camp with soldiers. We have people in our camp who don’t agree with that-”

 

“The Grounders?” Abby cuts in. “I wasn’t sure when it was decided that part of the alliance required living in close quarters with one another.”

 

Clarke doesn’t miss the look that her mother throws Lexa who, despite keeping an eye on them all, makes no attempt to move from the comfort of the cot and crosses her legs before leaning back against the wall slightly. 

 

“Our alliance is not your alliance.” Octavia brings the attention back to her. “These  _ close quarters _ give you the freedom that you have.” She glares at Abby. “But what would I know about close quarters.”

 

Abby’s face is not unsympathetic. “And do you think I don’t regret the circumstances in which-”

 

“I don’t think you regret much of anything from where I’m st-” Octavia grasps at her side for a weapon that’s not there and if not for Lexa’s subtle intervention and Clarke’s interruption. 

 

“Why are you here, Mom?” Clarke gets straight to the point before there’s a chance for tensions to boil over as they had outside. Octavia bites her tongue but raises her head, jutting her chin at the guard who has taken a step forward in the heat of the argument. A warning: stay back.

 

“We knew you were here.” Abby starts. “I understand that after everything you’ve all been through that coming home and adjusting to life- something normal, isn’t an easy road. And that I can’t make it any easier for you no matter how much I want to.”

 

Sincerity laces her words and Clarke feels shivers up her spine. “We’re not coming back.”

 

Abby looks down at the floor, to the bolts and pieces of fabric that have been forgotten and tossed, that make the room more than their last prison cell. “I know.”

 

“Tell me about the Grounders.” The word feels almost like a slur on Clarke’s tongue knowing the way the people from the Ark think of the  Trigedakru but she knows that Abby won’t understand them by any other address. 

 

“We tracked significant movement in the woods surrounding the camp a few weeks ago and again in the past few days. Large disturbances in the fields and over our boundaries.”

 

“You have no boundaries.”

 

Clarke forces herself not to look back because she’s given too much away already. Lexa’s voice, mired in authority, is tempting but she’s not yet open to the distraction. It’s neither the time nor the situation and her mother’s clenched jaw at Lexa’s proclamation does nothing to convince her otherwise. 

 

Lexa continues. “Our people have been travelling, gathering, in Polis. Your camp landed in the vicinity of some of the most well-traveled of our trading routes. There will always be people as there were before you crashed into our world.”

 

“They were scouting the edge of the woods.” Abby replies curtly. “Watching our camp.”

 

There’s a shift in the air at the accusation and implication that Lexa isn’t aware of what her people have been doing. 

 

Clarke glances back and beyond a raised eyebrow from Lexa that communicates more words than they can actually speak in this situation there’s no reaction to Abby’s accusation. 

 

“How long did they stay?” Clarke questions. 

 

“A day or so each time, weeks apart.” 

 

“And you’re sure that it was the same people?” Clarke asks.

 

“We deployed a team.” Abby responds. 

 

“You met them with guns?” Octavia snaps out. 

 

“For their protection.” Abby retorts. “And every one came back. No shots were fired. No casualties on either side.”

 

The guard behind Abby shifts and Clarke becomes aware that Lexa has stood up from the cot and joins her side. 

 

Clarke carries on. “We left NavYard for Polis a few weeks ago. Things have been-” The Ice Nation. Polis. Raven. Octavia. The ring. Lexa. “Hectic.”

 

The alliance.

 

“Those people were on their way to Polis.” Clarke reasons. “It’s a long journey and for many of them the Ark is a reasonable stopping point for the night. They didn’t mean any harm and they didn’t cause any.”

 

“And what if they had?” Abby asks. “What if they’d decided that investigating took precedence over whatever was going on in the capital. That a fight was worth it.”

 

Clarke wants to take a step back and get out. The stifling feeling in her chest is leaking into the air and the only way to stop it is to hold her breath as Abby waits for an answer. 

 

Honestly, Clarke thought she’d have more time to figure out how to say this.

 

“Nothing was more important.” Lexa’s stance changes and suddenly, even without armor or weapons, she becomes The Commander. “Their attendance was required at the union of their leader.”

 

It’s not how she would have put it but even Clarke admires Lexa’s confidence in her people’s discipline and duty over a passing whim to attack the Ark. Her mother is less admiring and more starting to put two and two together to make four, Clarke can see it in her eyes. See it in the way she looks back and forth between the two of them. In the way that her eyes stop looking back and forth and fixate on the absent hand that Lexa’s placed on the small of Clarke’s back. 

 

Abby’s voice is caught in the back of her throat. “A union.” It’s like she’s talking to herself more than anything. She looks hard at Lexa again and Clarke can pinpoint the exact moment that her mother catches a glint of the ring that Lexa’s wearing so proudly. “You.” Abby looks up and anger isn’t exactly how Clarke would describe what’s going on with her face. It’s something she hasn’t seen in a long time, disappointment.

 

“Mom.” Clarke feels paralyzed to the spot, she wants to move forward, wants to do something but she’s rooted. Lexa’s hand presses more insistently into the small of her back and Clarke’s eases back into the comfort. 

 

“You.” Abby gestures towards Lexa and Lexa stands her ground. “And my daughter.”

 

“It’s…” Clarke starts but stops immediately because her mother isn’t even looking at her. 

 

Abby’s taken to muttering under her breath as she stares Lexa down. Clarke catches a few words mainly ‘tattoo’ and ‘ring’ and ‘my daughter’. 

 

“I’ve missed so much of your life.” Abby gets caught up in a flood of memories. “Did you--did you do this to hurt me?”

 

“This has nothing to do with you.” Clarke answers firmly but not unkindly. 

 

“Clearly I didn’t cross your mind.” The hurt bleeds through Abby’s voice drowning out the anger and the disappointment. 

 

Clarke takes a ragged breath. “That’s not true, not even a little bit.” She steps forward away from Lexa’s touch, steps forward until she could maybe trick her brain into believing it’s just her and her mother in the room. 

 

“Clarke, I-” 

 

“No, you’re going to listen to what I have to say. I’ve earned that.” Clarke states. “I’ve thought about you, there’s not a day that’s gone by since I left that I haven’t thought about you. How could I not? You may be a lot of things but you’re my mom.” 

 

“You’re all I have left of dad, of life before all of this.” Clarke almost makes a grab for her father’s watch but it hasn’t hung around her neck for a long time. Not since Finn tainted its memory. 

 

“I made that ring, did you know that?” The back of Clarke’s throat stings as a result of trying to hold back tears. She mutters. “Of course you couldn’t have known that.”

 

“I wish things were different, you know. If there were we wouldn’t be standing here talking about how I made that ring because of our traditions and because of you, because of dad. I wanted that part of you two and I want to have that with Lexa.” Talking about it is the only thing harder than remembering looking out into the crowd of people celebrating with them and not seeing her mom there. “But things aren’t different so instead of you being there, instead of having my mom there by my side, I’m having to explain myself to you like I’ve done something wrong.”

 

“I didn’t mean-” Abby fumbles her words and Clarke takes the opportunity to strike one final verbal blow. 

 

“You never do.”

 

Abby’s eyes flit away from Clarke’s face to the ground even as she keeps her body language stiff and square, wary of showing too much weakness in front of her guard.

 

“It’s not your place anymore.” Clarke softens the blow reaching out to touch her mother’s arm for the first time. “And this is not the time.”

 

Abby takes a step back and Clarke respects the distance she’s put between them. She allows Abby to pace within the small area she’s allotted with all of these people crammed in. She understands the need to exhaust emotional energy with physical exertion, even so small as that.

 

“Clarke-”

 

“I can’t talk in circles about this.” Clarke expresses. “I’ll give you time. But I can’t do this now.”

 

Clarke starts to pay more attention to the guard in the room and the way his gaze shifts from Lexa to Octavia in equal measures. “I need to know about what contact you’ve had with the people on their way to Polis.”

 

Abby collects herself with some difficulty. It takes a moment longer for her back to straighten and move away from the previous topic. “We sent out a small scouting unit when we realized that there were grounders camping just beyond the treeline.”

 

The Ark has a vantage point, where Lexa once brought her army to wait for Finn to be released to her, that allows them to see any approach from any parties. It’s what protects them from surprise. 

 

“And?”

 

Abby continues. “And they approached from behind. I gave orders for them to observe only.”

 

“And did they?” Clarke aims her question at the man behind Abby. 

 

His jaw tightens at being addressed by her. Clarke isn’t sure it’s because she no longer belongs to the Ark or if there’s more to the story he’s telling with his eyes.  

 

“Yes.” He pauses. “Ma’am.”

 

Abby is comfortable with his answer. “No one crossed the tree line but we could see them passing through slowly.”

 

Clarke probes. “And those that made camp?”

 

The guard interjects. “They crossed some of our people in the hunting grounds.”

 

“Casualties?” Clarke demands quickly. Lexa tenses. 

 

“None.” He states. “We retreated back and adjusted our hunting schedules.”

 

Clarke hates the rigidness of his responses. They lack explanation and reasoning and the empathy that Clarke keeps hoping to find in her interactions with the Arkers. 

 

And that worries her. 

 

“Is that all you want from us?” Abby cuts through her train of thought. Her voice is back to that hesitant questioning that tempts Clarke into softening her words.

 

“Yes.” Clarke lies. The guard is twitching and Octavia starts to tap the handle of the dagger on her belt. 

 

To call him out, or to present a case to her mother, would lead to uncontrollable circumstances. Clarke can’t risk being wrong as much as she can risk being right.

 

“We should move if we wish to reach Camp Jaha by nightfall.” The guard suggests. 

 

There’s a tense few seconds where Clarke and Abby stare at each other. But this isn’t the time and the embrace doesn’t come. Clarke’s not even sure if it should but it’s too late. 

 

Octavia comes over and opens the hatch to the lower level. Indra looks up at them, having waited directly beside the ladder until all was safe, and steps back to let the guard and Abby come down. 

 

Clarke closes her eyes and listens to the footsteps fade followed by Bellamy’s loud orders to open the gates. 

 

“What do you believe?” Lexa murmurs. 

 

Clarke swallows the lump in her throat. “He had a gun pointed at your head with no hesitation whatsoever.” Her voice hides distress but not enough. “I think that says it all.”

 

*

 

The rain bounces off the drop ship and it sounds like nature's war drums crying out above their heads. 

 

The second floor, Clarke’s space, houses more bodies than it had since the 100 were sent to the ground. It’s taken a while to get them all together. The rain storm that followed Abby’s departure caused some difficulties with some of the out-houses around NavYard and instead of calling for this meeting immediately Clarke joined her village in tackling some of the more flooded areas.

 

The only people who were exempt from those tasks were Bellamy and Octavia. 

 

They lean against the wall to the side of Clarke, covered up to their shins in wet mud and leaves, trying to warm up after their stint outside camp.

 

Indra flanks Octavia’s right, close enough to Lexa, but just out of her immediate eye line. 

 

Raven is on Clarke’s right as well, holding a radio that’s only picking up static, while Wick sits on the ground with her. Monty and a reluctant Jasper are behind them, with Jasper trying not to make eye contact with anyone, while others; Monroe, Harper, Miller and Lincoln take up a space around the room.

 

Bellamy uncrosses his arms. “The fences are the same. They’ve added obstacles behind them- scrap metal pointing outwards. Reinforced the gate.”

 

Octavia’s report follows. “Guard rotations are tight. I can’t differentiate faces from the trees but some are in constant patrol while others stick to sentry posts. I didn’t see anyone replace teams from where we were and I think that’s what they want.”

 

“To make them appear unchanging. Above tiredness and weakness.” Indra comments distastefully. 

 

They all know this isn’t the case.

 

Bellamy continues. “The guard was down to less than thirty members before we left. In the time since we’ve been gone they could have recruited people eager to get their hands on a weapon.”

 

“It’s a big scary world.” Raven comments bitterly. 

 

“They’ll be trigger happy. Untrained unlike the older ones.” Bellamy points out. “They don’t have the experience.”

 

“Or the discipline.” Clarke agrees. “What about the rest of the people?”

 

Octavia looks at her brother before answering. “We watched them for three days. The only time I saw people other than the guards coming out were those coming out to take the hunt away from the guards. No civilian was out when it was dark.”

 

“They have floodlights sweeping the camp and the ground outside it.” Bellamy says. “If anyone was trying to get in- or out, they’d have a hard time trying to get past.”

 

“And Raven’s gate?” Wick asks. 

 

“The hunk of metal over the fence is too deep in the ground for them to root out.” Octavia replies. “But they’re trying.”

 

“That’s the weak point in the boundary.” Bellamy informs. “If we want to get in, that’s our cover.”

 

“Why do we want to get in?”

 

Clarke looks over to Jasper. It’s been a long time since she’s heard him speak, much less to her, and he has his arms firmly wrapped around his body when he looks at her.

 

“You called us all in to talk about something-” He chances looking around. “-and now you’re planning to storm the Ark? For what?”

 

“For the bodies that have been left on our doorstep that we can’t explain.” Lincoln is calm in his response and Clarke is glad he took it on himself to answer rather than Indra or Lexa. 

 

Jasper pushes back and lowers his head again. Monty purses his lips apologetically. 

 

“Anything else?” Clarke asks them. Bellamy and Octavia relay their last pieces of information about Camp Jaha and it’s after it’s all out in the open that Clarke lets herself breathe again.

 

Sending them off to scout the Ark had not been an easy decision. Once again the option to task Bellamy with entering enemy territory was the only solution to their problems.

 

“They send out small teams twice a day.” Octavia says. “But only one team comes back with food.”

 

Raven twists something on her radio. “I’m not getting anything substantial on any of the frequencies we used at the Ark. I built those systems to run without any problems. Getting a signal from the Ark to here shouldn’t be any trouble.”

 

Wick nods. “We get a couple of welfare checks when they’re out but silence for the most part. Nothing about guard changes or small talk.”

 

Raven pauses and looks at Clarke. “And I haven’t heard anything from Abby since she got back.”

 

Clarke bites her tongue and nods. She didn’t expect a message, they haven’t had regular contact from the Ark since they left, but the absence of any radio chatter between Camp Jaha and those inside is troubling. The Ark is a lot of things but silent was hardly ever one of them.

 

“They can’t stop me from coming to visit my mother. Not as myself and certainly not as our leader.” Clarke speaks firmly. “If they turn us away I’ll request official audience.” She turns to Lexa to see some reassurance before she catches herself and looks back at the group.

 

“And what if the reception is not friendly?” Indra’s even voice reminds them of the full breadth of the threat they might face. Warrior through and through.

 

Clarke brushes off the thought with a minute jerk of her head. “I can’t afford to think that way.” 

 

Lexa takes a step forward into Clarke’s space. “I know it’s not your way, Clarke, but you need to be prepared.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this.” Bellamy’s voice is tinged with disbelief. “But I agree with the Commander.”

 

There’s a wealth of options at their disposal and no correct answer. Clarke feels like she should be used to being stuck in these sort of quagmires but it never gets any easier. 

 

“Last time we brought guns to a diplomatic meeting Jasper almost shot Anya.” Clarke reminds the room, mindful of the fact that Lexa and Indra suddenly find the walls more interesting than they did moments ago. Perhaps it was a mistake to bring up Anya but there’s only so many applicable situations they’ve been in on the ground. 

 

“And then I blew up a bridge.” Raven reminds her. “And if I remember correctly, it did achieve what we wanted it to.”

 

Clarke frowns.

 

Raven shrugs. “To some extent.” Raven offers. “I do have more bombs. And bullets. I don’t exactly sit around all day playing with my thumbs.”

 

“How about a compromise?” Monty says finally after moments of conflicted silence. “What if we come prepared for a full infiltration but with Clarke’s intention of diplomacy still open? That way everyone is happy.”

 

Everyone looks to Clarke, everyone always looks to Clarke when it comes down to making a decision. Even when Lexa’s in the room, though she supposes the tides would be turned if they were standing in Polis rather than NavYard. Or does it really matter now that they’re joined for all eternity? Clarke’ll have to ask later. If everything doesn’t go to shit and she ends up asking the question in one of those future lifetimes. 

 

Before Clarke can formulate a plan, Lexa steps up. “Clarke will go to the front gate with Raven because if Abby wants to be diplomatic she’s not likely to order an attack on her daughter and her--whatever you are to her.” Raven shrugs and Lexa continues unphased. “Lincoln, you’ll back them up in case anything goes wrong.”

 

“I want to go with Clarke.” Jasper interrupts Lexa and she doesn’t look too pleased about that fact.

 

Lexa barely acknowledges him past a quick ‘fine’ as she surveys the remaining members of the party.

 

“Bellamy, I want you to take Wick to Raven’s Gate and be ready to go in on my order.” Clarke interjects. “Miller, I’d like you to be with them.”

 

Monty pipes in. “I can probably take out the spotlights if someone is there to cover me while I do.”

 

“Octavia.” Lexa, Clarke, and Indra say at almost the exact same time. 

 

“So what I’m hearing is you want me to go with Monty.” Octavia says with some hint of amusement. Monty cracks a small smile and they air fist bump from across the room.

 

“I’ll take Indra and go to the vantage point overlooking the Ark, it’s best if we stay out of sight.” Lexa concludes astutely, probably knowing that her immediate presence would quash all hopes of this being a diplomatic mission. “If you need us we’ll be ready to fight.”

 

Clarke shirks all sense of formality and smiles at Lexa, knows what it means for her to take a step back in what could potentially be a battle all for Clarke’s comfort. 

 

“We can’t all leave NavYard.” Clarke is reminded suddenly of the people who have settled here and those civilians who want nothing but peace and to build their livelihoods. “Harper, Monroe, you’ll stay behind so we’re not vulnerable to attack.”

 

They accept the responsibility without complaint and Clarke feels like this is all coming together. “I think that’s enough for right now, there’s nothing we can do while it’s pouring rain outside.” Indra scoffs but Clarke manages to ignore her judgement. “Let’s all get some rest but don’t stray too far, we’ve got to be prepared to move at a moment's notice.”

 

They all begin to leave, braving the weather to head home or, as Indra suggests, work on techniques in the rain. Octavia looks thrilled at the thought of it. 

 

After a minute or so it’s just Lexa and Clarke in her quarters and after the crush of people in the room it suddenly feels wide open.

 

Clarke takes a moment to calm down. It feels like she hasn’t gotten a moment to breath since the union. It’s not the celebratory tour she expected with Lexa, though she hopes there’ll be time for that later.

 

She sits down on her bed with a sigh, removing her jacket and tossing it somewhere over the hatch that Lexa’s secured to make sure that nobody is coming up without having to knock first.

 

Lexa removes her shoulder guard, belt, and weapons, and places them down far more carefully than Clarke did before sitting down next to Clarke.  

 

“I don’t plan on moving until I have to.” Clarke admits, leaning back into Lexa. Lexa’s arms wrap around her waist and she kisses her cheek. 

 

“I’ve got you.” Lexa reaches a hand up and touches the tattoo, a reminder that they need to tend to the inflamed skin later, but Clarke feels Lexa relax underneath her. 

 

“This is not how I expected to spend our honeymoon.” Clarke laughs softly, completely content in Lexa’s arms. 

 

“Honeymoon?” The word sounds foreign on Lexa’s lips like Clarke when she first started speaking trigedasleng but there’s intrigue and humor in her voice all the same.

 

“We didn’t even have them on the Ark but back on Earth, before the bomb, people would go on these extravagant trips after their weddings.” Clarke takes Lexa’s hand away from her ear and laces their fingers together.

 

“Why?” Lexa’s voice is not dismissive but instead filled with genuine curiosity to something so seemingly frivolous and indulgent. 

 

Clarke pauses thoughtfully. Looking past all the superficial reasons and the memories to be made it becomes clear why. “To be alone with each other.”

 

Lexa takes their hands and brings them to rest against Clarke’s collar, just above her heart. “We’re alone now.”

 

Clarke breaks out into a smile and laughs. It’s not the honeymoon she’d expected but-

 

“Yeah,” Clarke sits up and brings Lexa’s hands to the bottom of her shirt. “We are.”

 

-she’ll take what she has with Lexa over any forgotten customs.

 

*

 

The rain lasts the whole day and everyone is either respectful enough or too afraid of either Lexa or Clarke to bother them for the rest of the day. They’re not particularly inclined the leave the bed either, only for food and more blankets when it gets cold. 

 

Next day life goes on almost like there’s not a huge plan sitting in Clarke’s back pocket. The rain won’t stop so the day is mostly filled with reinforcing people’s homes and keeping the water out of the drop ship. Lexa helps where she can but her skills were built for battle and war not the daily minutiae of village life. She takes off to spar with Indra and Octavia after the first few houses. 

 

Clarke’s glad she didn’t laugh and neglect Earth Skills like some of the children on the Ark had, she’s glad she listened to her father’s wisdom telling her she’ll never know when she needs to know something until she does. It hadn’t made much sense when he’d said it, she rolled her eyes if she remembers correctly, but now she’s thankful that she listened. 

 

“Clarke!” Raven’s voice carries and Clarke whips around to look in her direction. Raven’s moving as fast as she can, pulling through the thick mud that’s developed throughout the camp. She’s using a crutch to help with traction but Clarke dutifully makes no further note of that. Raven wouldn’t appreciate the notice.

 

Clarke resolves to meet her halfway and save some of her trouble anyway. “What’s going on?”

 

Raven digs her crutch into the mud and leans heavily on it, taking the weight off of her bad leg. Rain falls on their heads rapidly only adding to the sudden drama of the moment. “It’s the Ark, something isn’t right.”

 

“I know.” Clarke blinks off a few droplets of rain from her eyelashes. “We had a whole meeting about it yesterday, there was a plan. You’re involved.”

 

“Thanks for that.” Raven rolls her eyes and then puts up her left hand as a shield for her face from the rain. “No, it’s something else. Abby. I agreed to have a signal- a code with her, just in case.”

 

“You what?” Clarke’s incredulity is only dampened by her sudden sense of betrayal. “How long have you been in contact with my mom without telling me?”

 

“We can argue about that some other time when shit isn’t about to hit the fan.” Raven brushes Clarke’s indignance aside. “I told her that if she ever needed me, even though I’m here, to use a certain frequency on the radio to send me a signal. Only if it’s dire, like, life or death dire.”

 

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest, unsure how to react to the emotions roiling through her. There’s anger at Raven for keeping this information from her and betrayal but more so worry. A strong sense of worry sitting in the pit of her stomach that tells her she’s not going to like what Raven has to say. 

 

“Clarke, I think Abby and Kane are being held hostage by the guards inside the Ark.” Raven spits out all at once. 

 

“Can you be absolutely sure?” Clarke switches gears. “Because if you’re not sure and we drop the diplomatic mission to attack the Ark--”

 

“I can’t be 100% sure, there’s no way. The message with the signal was rushed and fragmented but from what I can understand they’re in trouble.” Raven pauses to shift her crutch. “Maybe we’re all in trouble if what you said is true and it’s the guards that have been murdering the grounders.”

 

“If they were to take control of the Ark with all of that firepower.” Clarke says mostly to herself though Raven is right in front of her nodding her head. “There would be war.” Clarke feels like she’s swallowed molten ash, her body feels like it’s on fire and her mind is racing a mile a minute at the potential ramifications of a war against their people. A war fought with guns and bombs. “Lexa.” She says suddenly. “I need to find Lexa.”

 

“I’ll find Bellamy and he’ll gather the weapons and supplies, Clarke, we need to move now.”

 

Clarke absently agrees but she’s already moving away towards the training grounds. By the time she gets there she’s not sure what kind of emotions are painted across her face but Lexa halts the sparring immediately. 

 

“Clarke?” Lexa says in that unique way that she says Clarke’s name like it’s the air she breathes and the only word she knows. 

 

“Our plans have changed.” Clarke stops right in front of Lexa though she’s aware that Indra, Lincoln, and Octavia can clearly hear what she’s saying. “The guards have taken my mother hostage and we’re going to infiltrate the Ark and take them out. Save my mother.”

 

“Now?” Octavia steps forward, grinning with the anticipation of battle. 

 

Clarke turns toward her second, grim faced and resolute. “Right now.” She turns back to Lexa who is looking at her with the awe of a leader watching another leader in action. “Can you meet with Bellamy in the armory? Talk through the logistics of the plan one last time?” Clarke takes a ragged breath and Lexa moves further into her space without regard for anyone watching. It’s exactly what Clarke needs to center herself and focus on the objective at hand. 

 

With one final nod Lexa splits off and heads toward the armory, Indra follows without needing to be ordered. Lincoln and Octavia look to be sharing a moment that’s too private for Clarke’s eyes, she walks away in the direction of the gate. She knows Raven and Bellamy well enough to know they’ve already gathered the necessary parties. There’s no need for her to worry about that. 

 

She stands at the gate for no longer than a few minutes before she’s flanked by her entire party. Bellamy places a gun in her hand and hands her a pack full of ammo that Clarke shifts quickly onto her shoulders. 

 

“We walk.” Clarke turns so she’s facing the group. “It’s too much of a risk to ride the horses in this weather, we can’t risk hurting one or risk being detected.” She looks out at her friends, at Lexa, she’s encouraged and emboldened by the strength she sees reflected back at her. “Any questions?”

 

Nobody says a word. They’re no longer a ragtag bunch of teenagers fallen from the sky, they’re warriors, the Sky Crew mixed with  Trigedakru , and now they’re marching on the Ark. 

 

Together.

 

*

 

They walk in single file. Passing through trees and stepping over protruding roots. Octavia leads them, encouraging them to follow her quiet example, with her sword clenched tightly in her hand. Bellamy and Lincoln hold up the rear while Lexa and Indra trail Raven just ahead of them. 

 

Clarke’s feet sink into the wet ground the entire trek through the forest. She matches Octavia step for step. There are just enough leaves on the ground to cover the majority of their tracks, or to throw off anyone attempting to follow them. The sun is fading quickly in the sky now and Clarke focuses on the last lines that she can see of it, as it starts to disappear behind the hulking structure of the Ark.

 

The orange sky starts to bleed into purple and for the first time in a long time, the forest glows with radiation, lighting their way. 

 

They reach the treeline and immediately disappear, behind trees and onto the ground, to assess the situation. Clarke kneels behind a large tree and watches as Octavia and Indra scoop wet mud from the floor and cover their arms, legs, chests and faces. 

 

Clarke’s expression softens. Remembering a moment with Anya stumbling away from Mount Weather and their poorly fought battle at NavYard-

 

Lexa startles her slightly. “They are out in force.”

 

Clarke peeks around the tree to focus on the fences around the Ark. 

 

Bellamy’s descriptions of the changes were accurate but now Clarke can see for herself. The reinforced boundaries, the spiked obstacles, the hum of the electric fence. 

 

Wick passes a bag forward to Raven, who stands close to Bellamy, and she hooks the radio onto her belt. “We need to get to Raven’s gate.” He whispers.

 

Octavia looks over her shoulder. “They have difficulty patrolling it. We need to wait for the break in their path.”

 

Clarke watches to see what she means and her eyes follow a pair of guards that patrol the fences until they reach the large piece of metal that bends over the fence. They’re forced to retreat and go around it and once they’re past it, they can’t see anything behind it. 

 

“Monty?” Clarke utters. “Are you ready?”

 

Monty steps forward, slinging a bag around his neck. “Always.”

 

Clarke touches his shoulder, pressing promises of hope and safety through his jacket. Octavia shuffles backwards out of the openness and takes his side. Clarke looks at her. Covered in mud, weapon at the ready and jaw tight. Ready to fight. Ready to take this on. 

 

Clarke takes a steadying breath and reaches out for Octavia. It’s not the time for hugs but every time she lets Octavia run into battle, she never really knows if she’ll see her running back. 

 

Octavia sinks into the hug and awkwardly taps her sword against Clarke’s back. “Let’s go save your mom.”

 

Monty and Octavia leave them, running left, further past the trees to avoid being seen in order to reach the opposite side of the fence. The next task upon them.

 

Wick and Raven gather their tools and the rest of them check their weapons. 

 

“The fuse box is outside the fence. We can take it out and it’ll fry everything.” Raven wields a hammer. “Until they get it up and running.”

 

Wick nods. “It’s going to be a smash job. We could cut wires and be delicate about it but-”

 

“You will be seen.” Lexa states.

 

And they don’t need that.

 

Raven holds the hammer out to Jasper and he takes it. “It’s not rocket science this time.”

 

Clarke swears she sees a smile.

 

Jasper starts his slow walk, Wick follows on and Bellamy watches them for a moment with Miller. Clarke feels the weight of what they’re about to do start to sink in. 

 

“Be careful.” Clarke asks. “Keep them safe.”

 

She grasps Miller’s arm, lingering on the cuff of his shirt when she lets go and turns to Bellamy. He has confidence in his eyes and strength that she’s thankful to see. 

 

Clarke hugs him, gripping the back of his jacket like she did with his sister. “Make sure you come back.”

 

Bellamy pulls her into him, almost lifting her feet off the ground. “Whatever the hell you want.”

 

Clarke’s laugh comes out as a tearful choke and he pretends not to notice when he lets go. They don’t look at each other after that and Bellamy runs to catch up. 

 

It’s the last of them now. Indra keeping watch, Lincoln knelt with his eyes watching the movements of the guards, Raven listening to the faint white noise of her radio and Lexa.

 

Lexa tightening the straps of the swords on her back. Her warpaint disguising her face against the rapidly darkening sky and gloomy forest. Looking deadly and ready and Clarke is struck with how far they’ve all come.

 

The realization that she has so much more to lose than she did when they first landed here washes over Clarke. Her family, her friends, her village- love. 

 

Clarke feels the gun strapped on her hip. 

 

Anyone who tries to take that away won’t have the luxury of walking away when they come for them.

 

*

  
  


The guards walk in pairs. Four pairs patrol the fences. Two stand outside the entrance to the Ark. The patrolling pairs never lose sight of the pair ahead of them. Until that pair walks to the other side of Raven’s gate. 

 

That disappearance puts them at risk. It makes their patrols weaker. It makes exploiting that easier. 

 

Clarke watches the pair disappear behind Raven’s gate as the pair behind them reach the gated entrance leading to the Ark. The fuse box is located at the very back of the Ark. For a second Clarke worries if Jasper and Wick will have reached it without being spotted. She worries that Bellamy and Miller won’t be able to cover them. Along with a hundred other things-

 

And then suddenly the entire camp goes dark. 

 

The Ark lights disappear. The spotlight that swept over the ground before them splutters and dies. And the hum of the electric fence becomes silent. 

 

Lincoln moves faster than all of them, ignoring the yelp Raven lets out when he pulls her onto his back, and begins running down the slope towards Raven’s Gate.

 

Lexa sprints after him and Clarke trails after Indra. Her heart is pounding and her feet are cutting through the wet grass as sounds of confusion and distress start to emit from the Ark.

 

They can’t see the guards, the guards can’t see them, but they can see the Gate and that’s where Lincoln is leading them.

 

Clarke hears the small crackle of Raven’s radio ahead of her, as it bounces off the signal at NavYard and not the Ark, and follows that. Lexa pulls her out of sight as they get to the fence. Raven gets to work quickly, testing the fence with a stick to confirm it’s dead. “We’re a go.”

 

Heavy footsteps are marching a short distance away and the yelling of the guards is directed towards the lights and the power. Heading for Bellamy’s group. 

 

Raven produces bolt cutters from her back where they had been strapped like a sword, Clarke notes, and makes short work of the thick wires of the fence. They make noise as they’re snapped and it unnerves them all-

 

Until they hear the gunshots. 

 

Clarke has just crawled under the fence and into the safety of Raven’s gate when an unbroken echo of shots breaks the calm. Raven grabs at her radio, turning away from the metal, to call out for anyone. “Report.”

 

Nothing. 

 

Indra and Lincoln take point at either side of the gate, spotting the guards at the entrance looking distractedly to the other side of camp. Where the sounds of struggle are growing.

 

“Report- Jasper- Wick-”

 

Clarke chances looking around herself and catches the glint of a sword underneath the beacon tower. Octavia’s signal for mission completion. Indra notices it too. “We must move now.”

 

“The guards haven’t left yet.” Clarke says. She could shoot, but it would reveal their position too soon.

Raven tries again. “Report.”

 

The radio comes to life with a crackle and the first reassurances of Bellamy’s voice- cut off only by the sound of Wick, out of breath, but laughing at their success. Raven is grinning, holding her hand to her head and wondering what she sees in him out loud-

 

And then the laughter is gone. 

 

Raven’s smile slips. “Wick?”

 

The radio picks up jarring noises and heavy breathing and the sound of Miller saying Wick’s name- of Jasper-

 

Gunfire escalates and Clarke grips Raven’s shoulder tightly. Raven is shaking, staring down at the radio, as the shouts of the boys are drowned out by guns.

 

Lexa turns to them. “Clarke.”

 

Clarke holds on for another second. “Raven.”

 

Raven steels herself. It’s all reflex. Raven’s reaction to pain shoots up her spine, making her stand straight, balling her hands into fists and trying to control the slight tremble in her voice. “We have to move-”

 

“Raven-”

 

“Your mom, Clarke.” Raven reminds her. 

 

It’s hard to watch Raven shut down a part of herself for the greater good. It’s not the first time and Clarke knows it won’t be the last time for any of them.

 

Clarke takes up Lincoln’s watch point and spots the guards at the doors fleeing to assist the Ark guards in the fight against Bellamy, Miller and Jasper. Their boots disappear around the back and that’s when they run.

 

All of them take off, Lincoln scooping Raven up again, towards the doors. Clarke keeps up with Lexa and they meet Octavia and Monty sprinting towards them as well. 

 

Monty lets his gun drop when they make it to the door. “No power. No protection.” He pulls at the handle and it opens. 

 

Clarke brushes by his shoulder, ignoring the warnings to go slow, and meets a bewildered guard that blinks at the barrel of her gun. 

 

Planning this at NavYard had been easy. It had been logical to say that there would be innocent guards. That not everyone would have gone along with the killing of Grounders. That there would be time to talk after they had secured the Ark.

 

But they are outnumbered, outgunned and outsiders to the Ark-

 

And everyone looks like an enemy now.

 

Clarke buries a bullet in the man’s right shoulder and he goes down with a cry. Indra is on him almost instantly after he hits the floor, trapping his gun under her foot and covering his mouth and nose. Raven and Monty point their guns down the corridors of the Ark, watching for sudden movement, while Octavia and Lexa come to stand in front of her.

 

“Now?” Lincoln asks as the guard’s feet stop moving.

 

Clarke stares at the mud coating the guard’s boots. “We fight.”

 

*

 

They don’t split up. Lexa and Indra can’t navigate the Ark and are at a disadvantage without guns, though she knows just how many bullets they would each take in her stead. Clarke hopes that the sight of them all together will surprise whoever they run into for long enough to shoot first. 

 

It works for a while. Clarke knows these walls as well as she did before her time in solitary. Octavia and Indra keep on their toes, listening to the echoes around them, while Monty and Raven direct their shots with precision and care.

 

Clarke almost forgets about Lexa until a sharp intake of breath is cut off and the group whirls around to the source. 

 

A gun clatters uselessly to the floor and the guard Lexa has stopped, chokes at the grip her forearm has around his neck.

 

Clarke’s gun is raised but she doesn’t shoot. Just watches as the light disappears from this man’s eyes, the hope draining the more he realizes that no one is going to stop Lexa. That the pressure he feels as Lexa cuts off his air and slowly crushes his windpipe isn’t going to be relieved. 

 

Lexa only looks at her to gauge her expression and Clarke isn’t sure what she finds but Lexa ends it quicker. Taking a knife from her belt and drawing the blade deeply across his throat. 

 

Monty’s small “oh god” is the only break from the encounter. 

 

The guard’s blood joins the mud and paint on Lexa’s clothes and she steps further into the group like it was nothing. Raven urges them on though Octavia considers Lexa with some akin to awe. 

 

Clarke can’t help herself. Just one second. 

 

She brushes her fingers against Lexa’s face. 

 

“We have to keep moving.” Lexa says.

 

Her mom.

 

Octavia tugs at her shoulder, separating them and rushing them forward to where Lincoln has stumbled. 

 

A choice to make.

 

Clarke recognizes the hallways and where they lead. Left to the council room and where the Chancellor holds meetings. Or to the right, to the medical bay and living quarters. 

 

Monty glances between them. “We have to split up.”

 

Raven touches her radio and Octavia asks; “Did she give you anything else? Any hint to where they’re being held?”

 

“If they are being held.” Indra corrects. Reminding them all that this infiltration dances on a thin belief that trouble exists. 

 

Raven shakes her head. “Nothing.”

 

“We haven’t seen anyone other than guards.” Lincoln points out. “If the council is being held, there’s a chance that they’re keeping the people away from them.”

 

Monty nods. “Making sure that no one can get to them.”

 

Making it easier for the guards to force their power. Clarke stares left. “Octavia, Lincoln with me. Indra, Monty, Raven, Lexa-”

 

“We could wait for Bellamy and the others-” Octavia suggests. 

 

Clarke stays firm. “We’ll head to the council chambers and try to find my mom and Kane. Head to the medical bay and see if anyone is there.” She turns to Raven. “Don’t try to move anyone until we have control.”

 

“And Bellamy?” Monty asks.

 

“Lead them here.” She tells Raven. “And tell them to find us.”

 

Raven touches the radio on her hip. “Got it.”

 

Octavia leads the way followed by Lincoln while the others head to the medical bay. Clarke doesn’t bridge the distance between her and Lexa. The dim emergency lights that guide their way through the Ark flicker over their faces. 

 

Clarke gripped her gun tighter. 

 

This isn’t goodbye.

 

Lexa steps backwards. “May we meet again.”

 

A pressure settles in her chest that won’t leave until they’re all safe. Clarke watches Lexa run until she disappears before turning. 

 

She has something to lose. She’s always had something to fight for.

 

*

 

Octavia and Lincoln work together effortlessly. Neither hold a gun but Clarke’s reaction to a trio of guards turning the corner is a split second off and a bullet grazes her shoulder before a sword is flung into the first guard’s stomach. Lincoln grabs the gun of the second guard and uses it against him, smashing it into his face until the man’s body becomes boneless, dropping to the floor. When Clarke looks to the third he’s already down, with Octavia kneeling on his chest and pulling a dagger out of his throat. Another three guns to add to their arsenal. 

 

If Clarke had her way she’d ask questions, ascertain sides but there’s no time for that. And if the dust settles and it’s innocent people that they’ve slaughtered. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. 

 

They move quickly and the walls of the corridor start to darken in color and they pass through doors with ease. The crest of the Ark appears as they get closer to the Chancellor’s room and Clarke slows them down. The Chancellor’s meeting room, where Clarke was imprisoned for a short time, is the room at the very end of the corridor. No other rooms lead off on the way, leaving them wide open as soon as they leave the safety of their position. 

 

She has to run, to distract, to draw them away.

 

Clarke has to stop shaking first. 

 

Wordlessly Clarke makes her way to the edge and focuses.

 

Stepping out in front of two guards is safe for a second and Clarke dives out of the way just in time for them to fire at her. They sprint in her direction and right into her line of fire. She doesn’t miss. 

 

Lincoln hesitates for a second before picking the guns up while Octavia pulls Clarke to her feet. They waste no time in running to the Chancellor’s door and pulling it open. A rush of air fills the hallway and Clarke braces for a trap, for gunfire, for disappointment.

 

For her mother’s disbelief. “Clarke?”

 

Abby stands on the other side of the table in the room, her hair sticks to her forehead and there’s a bruise on her face that wasn’t there a few days ago. She’s not the only one in the room.

 

Kane, looking haggard and thin, sits in a chair next to her and whispers Clarke’s name just as her mother had. Various members of the council squint through the dim light at them like they can’t quite believe it. Some still see danger. 

 

“Mom.” Clarke rushes forward.

 

Abby wraps Clarke up in a hug. “I didn’t think you’d come-”

 

“I’ll always-” Clarke holds her mom. “I wouldn’t leave you.”

 

“Where’s Raven? Lexa?” Abby asks. 

 

Octavia and Lincoln go around the room checking over everyone for injuries. Arming the ones who look strong enough. 

 

Clarke tries to get the words out. “Searching for everyone else. This place is-”

 

“Deserted.” Kane confirms. 

 

“How long has this been going on?” Clarke questions. 

 

Abby keeps hold of her arm, reassuring herself that Clarke is there. “The minute we returned from your village.”

 

Clarke should have-

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Octavia marches over. “Five guns.” She holds one out for Kane. “We have to find the others.”

 

Abby nods. “They rounded everyone up into the mess hall. Before they brought us here they were steering people into the living quarters.”

 

Clarke takes it in. “Who’s leading them? Who started it all-” A horrible thought passes over her when she realizes that Miller’s dad is nowhere to be seen.

 

Abby shakes her head. “Majority rules.”

 

Kane checks over his gun and Clarke asks; “Captain Miller?”

 

Abby and Kane share a look. “Unaccounted for since we returned.”

 

Unaccounted for doesn’t equal guilty but Clarke hopes all the same that they don’t run into him next. 

 

“It’s just the three of you?” Abby asks, clearly looking for their back up. 

 

Clarke stares down the hall. It’s still empty. “Raven, Lexa, Indra and Monty headed towards the medical bay. Bellamy, Jasper, Miller and-” she pauses. “Wick took out the fuses outside.”

 

“We have to get out of here.”

 

“Get out?” Abby repeats. “We’re not going anywhere.”

 

“Mom.”

 

“We can’t leave.” Abby argues. “If we leave, then the Ark is lost. I can’t stand by while a faction of people try to terrorize our home. And I certainly can’t let them drive us away.”

 

Lincoln looks on, worried. “There aren’t many of us.”

 

Kane holds the gun. “Get us to the armory and you’ll have more than enough.”

 

Clarke stares at her mom. “Are you sure this is the right thing?”

 

They could leave, regroup, come back with a stronger force and a more solid attack. 

 

Abby nods. “These are my people.”

 

Clarke understands. “Let’s go.”

 

Those with guns follow Lincoln and Octavia out into the hallway. Abby takes a handgun and eventually leads the group towards the turn. The bodies of the guards are still lying on the floor ahead as they approach. 

 

“We have to find the others. Arm everyone who’s able and root out the rest of the guards.” Clarke explains.

 

Kane nods. “Their base- as you will- is in the control sector. The cameras are functional once we leave this hallway- they’ll have seen us leave the room so we need to be fast.”

 

Fast is on her mind as they step over the bodies. Her reactions aren’t up to speed. 

 

Octavia and Lincoln scope down the way they came and avoid the first shot but the retaliation is too slow and several guards grab at anyone they can reach. Most take cover behind the walls-

 

Most-

 

Until one gets lucky and grabs Abby by the hair, pulling her backwards and into the pack of guards. 

 

“MOM!”

 

Clarke lurches forward as the first guards disappears behind the corner. They make quick work of pulling out, the goal to hold captive, not to injure. She has her gun raised, heart hammering, knowing that the second she steps into view they could shoot. But her mom needs her. 

 

Octavia screams out for her and Clarke catches sight of the guard holding her mom around the neck, pointing and pulling-

 

“Clarke!”

 

Her head turns away for a second, distracted at the sound of her name being shouted, looking for another threat. 

 

Jasper comes out of nowhere and pushes her into the wall with a panicked look in his eyes. There’s blood on the side of his neck.

 

“JASPER!” 

 

His body blocks the sight of her mother being dragged along the hallway. Gunshots echo as they go and one of the  guards lowers his gun, his job temporarily done. With that, he makes an escape with the rest of them. Her mom a captive.

 

Jasper falls to his knees and Clarke sees him really smile for the first time since Mount Weather.

 

It reminds her of that first day. Feet still soft on the ground and heads even softer. Laughing their way through the forest with no regard for anything other than the flowers. Clarke watches it over and over in her head and it always ends the same.

 

Jasper swinging across the river first. 

 

Jasper moving in front of them.

 

A spear.

 

A bullet.

 

“Jasper-” The emotion chokes her. Clarke makes a move to get up but she’s trapped quickly by Octavia. 

 

Still she reaches out from where Octavia has her pressed against the wall. “Jas-”

 

His shaking hands press against his chest. 

 

He hunches over suddenly and Clarke breaks away to catch him in her arms, forgetting that there’s a mission- that they have her mother- 

 

“Clarke.” Octavia is on her feet now, her sword drawn. “Clarke, we need to move.”

 

They do, they do but Jasper-

 

“You. Go.” He’s coughing up blood and choking around it. Shaking in her arms and this time she can’t save him. This time she’s useless.

 

A thundering approach has Octavia reeling backwards only to catch her breath in relief. Indra rounds the corner with her sword at the ready. “They have freed the children-”

 

Octavia looks down at Clarke and when she doesn’t ask, Octavia does it for her. “The Commander?”

 

“Led the charge to the medical bay.”

 

Clarke feels Jasper grasp at her arm. Feels him shake and urge her to leave him. 

 

“Jasp-” She can’t save him. “You-”

 

She hiccups through words, watching how his expression fades into calmness, and he reaches to grab her hand. “M’sorry.” He coughs out. 

 

There isn’t anything she can say to that. Clarke strokes the back of his head, her hand shaking, until Jasper slowly slips away. 

 

He finally looks at peace. Clarke closes his eyes and struggles to let him go. Octavia pulls at the collar of her jacket but Clarke can feel her grip wavering. 

 

They have to go. 

 

“We’ll come back for him.” Octavia promises.

 

Clarke nods and gets to her feet. Kane waits for her to steady before picking up Jasper’s fallen gun. They all look to her like this has changed something. Flipped a switch inside her like it did in the Mountain.

 

Clarke isn’t sure she ever turned off that feeling. 

 

“We go after them. Free everyone.” 

 

“And the guards?” Lincoln asks. 

 

Clarke looks down at Jasper and then to Indra. “They made their choice.”

  
  
  


*

 

The final resistance arms and defends themselves in an abandoned medical bay. It’s much larger than Clarke remembers it but with multiple entrances that the last fledgling members of the guard can’t all cover. 

 

Raven blows two of the doors with makeshift explosives that disrupt the emergency lights and fill the room with smoke and ash. Aimless gunshots cross the room, firing at nothing, anything.  

 

Clarke enters and looks for her mother through the smoky haze but without the lights her eyes aren’t trained to see this way. 

 

A low mechanical hum sounds through the room and the lights snap back on at once. Clarke reacts first before the disoriented guards and her gun shots are followed by bodies hitting the floor. Her shoes trail through blood and print her steps on the floor but she’s not the first one to Abby. 

 

Octavia takes out a guard with stripes on his arms who tries to run. Kicking his legs from under him before plunging a knife into his chest. 

 

Lincoln and Indra weave in circles around each other. Blocking and striking as guards try to adapt to close combat horribly. A wall of bodies circles them. 

 

Raven shelters Monty and Clarke hears an explosion rumble outside the room. 

 

Bellamy and Miller, bloodstained and angry, lose their guns when the bullets run dry and attack those closest with their fists and knives. 

 

Their fighting force is only a few but their strength is more than their enemies. 

 

And Clarke has Lexa. 

 

Lexa who moves like she’s been struck, twirling dual blades, dancing through a flurry of attacks. Clarke knows she’s been hit, that there’s pain despite how Lexa hides it, but that it won’t stop her.

 

Naivety hits her remembering how she once told Anya that the Ark’s forces would overwhelm their army and leave them broken and defeated.

 

What chance did any of them have?

 

Clarke takes her own shots, disarms them all to avoid being shot in the back, and makes progress behind Lexa. 

 

Lexa’s warpaint is bloody and her face shines with sweat but she makes quick work of the first guard standing between her and Abby. Driving her sword up through his stomach gives a short warning to those behind him. 

 

The noise of the fighting becomes faint as the blood pumps through Clarke’s ears. The guard holds Abby against his body like a shield and it only pisses her off more that he can’t accept defeat, that he can’t see that he brought this on himself as all Ark guards did the moment they tried to take charge of themselves.

 

That the grounders they killed would come back to haunt them like this.

 

He presses the muzzle of his handgun to Abby’s head and Clarke freezes. “Don’t move.”

 

His life or hers. 

 

“You have no friends here.” Lexa doesn’t lower her swords. “And the woods will not take you.”

 

Lexa plays on his twitches, his nerves and the shaking of his hand. “Where would you go that we would not find you?” 

 

Clarke keeps her eyes on her mom, willing her to be strong and trust her. Trust Lexa.

 

“Why?” Clarke asks because if this ends here, ends now, she’s got to know. 

 

Because the Ark is stifling even to those who call it a home. Because nothing has changed for those in power forced to make hard choices. Because winter was cruel and took many lives. Because power shouldn’t be gifted to some. 

 

Because they don’t feel free. 

 

He steadies his hand, pointing the gun at Lexa. “Because the Chancellor couldn’t keep us safe from them.” He spits out the word ‘them’ like it’s a curse. 

 

He pulls the trigger and Clarke’s world stops. 

 

Her chest collapses, shattering her insides into thousands of shards, letting her screams fill the void. Her gun falls to the floor and all instincts flee-

 

The air rushes back into the room and shows quickly how the click of an empty chamber fills a hollow room.

 

His last laugh dies when Lexa doesn’t fall to her feet and instead lunges forward. 

 

Abby breaks free, diving away from his body to the floor.

 

No shield. No safety. Nothing to save him.

 

Lexa’s swords enter up through the ribs and she doesn’t take her weight away from them until one pierces the skin above his collarbone. 

 

Clarke rushes to her mom’s side, dragging her away from them both and against the wall. Lexa doesn’t look down at them and instead holds her glare at the guard. The last thing he ever sees, Clarke knows, will be Lexa’s face covered in the blood of his fellow guards knowing that they failed. 

 

That it was never a question how this was going to end. 

 

It ends with a shiver. 

 

It ends with death and loss. From the guards to Jasper to Wick’s body growing cold outside the fence. 

 

Clarke breathes sharply, feeling every graze and bruise, but she’s still alive.

 

Lincoln comes over and holds the body up as Lexa tugs at the first sword. It slips out and the wound seeps dark crimson. The second sword doesn’t dislodge as easily and Clarke watches the blade bump against the ribcage before Lexa frees it. 

 

“I never wanted this.” Abby says as the guard is left to slump lifelessly to the floor. He joins those that fought for his cause.

 

Clarke looks at her mom and the devastation she finds in her eyes. It was sudden. It was unexpected. It was all that Clarke could do to save them all. 

 

Clarke touches her hand. “We do what we have to-” and grips it tightly. “-so we can survive.”

 

And she would do it a thousand times over. 

 

Bellamy and Octavia come through, together and in one piece, splitting up to reach out to them. Octavia falls into Lincoln’s side with a sigh of relief and Bellamy offers his hand to Abby when Clarke waves him away to stand up on her own. When she stands, she rushes forward to Lexa. 

 

Lexa drops her swords when it becomes clear that Clarke won’t slow down for her to sling them across her back and wraps her arms tightly around Clarke’s waist. Clarke hides her face in Lexa’s neck, holding the back of her head, making sure there isn’t a part of them not touching. 

 

“Thank you.” She murmurs, holding back tears. “Thank you.” 

 

For saving Abby. For coming with her. For fighting. 

 

For everything.

 

Lexa lets her shudder and cry silently into her without a word.

 

“I made a promise.” Lexa says into Clarke’s shoulder. “In this life and every one after that.”

 

Clarke looks up over Lexa’s shoulder and sees her mother considering them closely with Bellamy still keeping her upright. Abby whispers something to Bellamy that Clarke can’t quite make out and he lets go, allowing her to limp the last few feet.

 

“Commander.” Abby says, her voice a weak facsimile of its usual strength. Lexa turns in Clarke’s grip and it’s clear, to both Clarke and Abby, that if Clarke were to let go Lexa might not remain upright. “Do you want me to look at your injuries?”

 

Lexa stands up as straight as she’s able and shakes her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

 

“I’ll take care of it.” Clarke offers and her mother responds with a tight smile. Not disapproving as it once might have but something more, something that looks a lot like understanding.

 

Kane breaks through their quiet conversation. “Abby- we could use you.”

 

Abby looks at them one last time before following Kane out to where she’s needed. Clarke feels Lexa breathe out, almost wobbling in her hold, and grips her arm. Bellamy leaves them and Lincoln steers Octavia out to try and help with the wounded.

 

Out of sight of any prying eyes, Clarke helps Lexa lean against the wall and pulls back to look at Lexa’s side. “Can you make it back?”

 

“I’ll live, Clarke.” Lexa says with a hint of a smile in her eyes.

 

Clarke smiles softly but her mood darkens when she thinks about those who will not, who did not survive. Thinks about bringing their bodies back to NavYard and giving them the proper burial they deserve.  

 

It makes the journey back heavier to bear. 

 

*

 

They bury the bodies of Wick and Jasper at dawn, before any of them even get a moment of sleep. Raven holds firm, refuses to shed a single tear in front of them, even as Octavia holds her hand. 

 

It takes a few days for those involved to heal enough to start planning a return to Polis. Indra restlessly wanders around camp barking orders at whoever she can corner in an attempt to not disturb Lexa, who has been confined to Clarke’s quarters until she’s able to travel. 

 

Taking a few bullets will put someone out of action for a while. Clarke tends to Lexa closely and for once Lexa allows herself to be taken care of, at least out of view of everyone else.

 

But a few more days pass and Indra grows even more restless and Lexa’s wounds heal to the point where she can move freely through NavYard, not that she takes that opportunity too often. 

 

There’s a small, guilty part of Clarke that wishes Lexa wouldn’t heal quite so quickly because now that she can move she must return to Polis, at least for a short while to settle her people. She’ll return or Clarke will go to her, that’s not been decided yet, but the days or weeks that stretch between will seem far too long.

 

The horses are saddled behind them and Clarke feels a spark of sadness to see Octavia and Lincoln joining Indra and Lexa on their journey back. They keep their distance, leading their horses out and waving goodbye to those who have come to see them off. 

 

Lexa twirls a small white flower in her hand, pinching the end of the broken stem, before cupping Clarke’s cheek and sliding the flower behind her ear. “Until we meet again, Clarke.”

 

Clarke ruins her moment by kissing her softly before she can say anything more about seeing her soon. “Go.” She says trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. “Before I don’t let you leave.”

 

Lexa quirks up an eyebrow but turns and mounts her horse all the same. She gives Clarke one final look and Clarke focuses on the ring that Lexa wears proudly on her finger and knows that their future meeting is not an empty promise.

 

The small party leaves the gate and Clarke watches them until they’re nothing but small blips in the distance. Monty flanks her on one side and Raven comes up beside her on the other side. 

  
“Come on.” Raven throws her arm over Clarke’s shoulder, leading her towards the drop ship. “There’s work to be done.”


	6. Epilogue

He’s a mess from the worn and muddy boots on his feet to his scab covered face. It looks like someone has taken a knife to his skull, scraping the hair from his head and not worrying if skin followed. He holds his hands out like he’s expected them to attack him, something drilled into him by someone else or habit from running into them, Clarke doesn’t know. 

 

But his reappearance after all these years doesn’t bode well. Dehydrated and infected looking, Murphy never finds them with good tidings on his tongue. 

 

“Clarke.” His voice is different. Desperate. “Long time no see.”

 

Clarke stands between him and the camp warily while Bellamy and his guards hold their guns steadily. Not forgiven, not forgotten.

 

Murphy doesn’t take offence, smiling painfully, after all- this is familiar. “You have a minute to talk about the nuclear apocalypse?”

 

This is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for you patience as we certainly took our time finishing this one. Cheers, hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> co-written canon-divergent from season two. this is turning into a monster so we both hope that you enjoy the ride.
> 
> (you can find us on tumblr at diana-matheson and lucidliar.)


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